


Soulmates

by sarcastic_fina



Series: The Multiships of One Chloe Sullivan [46]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Across time, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Character Death, F/M, Past Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-05-11
Updated: 2008-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-10 02:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 70,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: They were bound from the beginning.





	1. Prologue | Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Just a reminder that this story was written in 2008 and while I've edited it, there are definitely themes and styles that are quite different to how I write now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior and His Jungle Woman - She was betrothed to someone else, but her heart belonged to him and the jungle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One is placed in the Aztec time period; however, I wrote this back in like 2008 and I didn't do a whole lot of research, so I sincerely apologize for how blah this probably is, lol. TBH, I would likely delete this whole story for how inaccurate it probably is, but there are a few people who've asked that I keep it, so I'm just moving it over here. 
> 
> Tlacelel is Oliver and Chalchiutl is Chloe. Oliver's name means the bravest of warriors and Chloe's name means 'beautiful,' I think.

**Prologue**

While religion has always changed, along with the people who believed, something that has been predominant in almost every view was the soul. The soul is often considered the most pure part of a human; the embodiment of all that is good in them. While humans have not always been monogamous, it is shown throughout time that often, the male and female will find one mate and hold onto them tightly.

A soul mate is a rare occurrence; someone who is connected spiritually and physically with one other person. Throughout the ages Chloe Sullivan and Oliver Queen have seen the world through various facets of themselves. They do not know their former lives, they do not know of their prior stories, but as the years continue to pass them, with each life they live, they somehow managed to find each other. Their journey was never easy and they've met challenges that stand in the way of the life they want to live together, but they fight for each other still. They stand tall and in doing so, find themselves faced with the cruelty of the world around them.

Their time has come again and they will be faced with the disapproval and the hardships that the world is still riddled with. But will they make it this time as they haven't before? Will their bound souls connect and not let go? To understand who they are now and how hard they will fight for one another, one must know their past together. This is their story...

* * *

...

* * *

**Part One** : _The Hunter and His Jungle Woman_

Her hair was black as night; it fell to her chin, sheared short. But it was her eyes that caught his attention; greener than the grass itself and standing where in a green patch where the sun seemed to collect around her, drawn in just as he was. Tlacelel stood crouched by a rock, watching with wide, fascinated dark eyes as the beautiful woman stood in the grass before him, humming under her breath and exploring her surroundings. He tipped his head to the side, his bow and arrow forgotten as he gazed at her curiously. He wanted to step closer, to see what it was she saw that interested her so. Her eyes roamed the jungle around her, brown hands reaching for leaves and branches, just to feel them. But as that same hand reached out, he saw the slithering creature wind up and hiss, ready to attack, and he was on his feet, running forward. He grabbed the serpent by its head and bashed it hard against a large boulder until it slithered no more. He stood, breathing heavy and turned his eyes toward the woman.

She wore animal hide to cover her body from his sight, with extra patches strapped across her elbows and knees for added protection. Shoulders were left bare, her arms lean and lined with muscle. She stared forward, her eyes on his bare chest, and then she was reaching out with the same interest she'd had for the trees and the ground. She stroked his skin, work-rough fingers running up and down his skin, lined with old battle scars. She spread her hands along his pecs, her fingers growing more curious. Her hands fell lower, fingers running along the ridges of his stomach until they touched the top of his loincloth and then recited their journey upward before finding his shoulders and spreading out until she roamed down both of his arms.

Her eyes lifted to his. "Hunter?" she asked in their native tongue.

He nodded. "You are far from home."

She pointed back the way she came. "I came for food and got lost. I'm looking for home now."

He frowned thoughtfully. "You are not afraid of the jungle?" So few women ventured out of the village. They were too important to be lost to the perils of hunting, so they remained where it was safest.

She smiled up at him. "Afraid? Why? You are good," she told him decidedly.

He nodded. "I am good. But others are not and the jungle is not safe for you."

"You will help me get home?" She lifted her brows questioningly.

He nodded and walked back to the rock he had been hiding behind. He picked up his bow and arrows and motioned for her to follow. She stood at his side, eyes still roaming the jungle curiously.

"Where is your husband? He should get your food."

She shook her head. "I am to be married." She sighed then, her chin jutted out in dejection. 

He frowned. "You are not happy?"

She shook her head. "I marry because my father chose a good hunter for me. But I do not want him. I want to choose my own. I want to love who I marry."

He laughed. "Love?"

She glared at him. "You do not love your wife?"

"I have no wife." He used his bow to push a branch out of the way for them to walk through. "The girl I was supposed to marry died. I hunt for my village and myself."

"But who will take care of you? Who will give you children?"

"I take care of myself. And there are enough children."

She put her hands on her hips. "It is your duty!"

He grinned. "Then your duty is to marry for children not for love?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "You bother me."

He laughed, shaking his head. "You are interesting."

"I know." She kept walking, watching not where she was going but instead at the animals that lived in the trees and the plants that grew from the ground. She sighed wistfully, smiling gently at her surroundings. "You are lucky."

His brow furrowed. "Why?"

She turned to him, eyes glittering a beautiful green. "You spend your days here."

Dark hair fell across a beautiful, brown cheek and he stared at it, wanting to reach out and touch perfection. She had laid her hands on him and now he wanted to return the favor. But, he feared he would not be able to stop. She was not his and so his hands should not wander to her. He turned his attention to their surroundings. "The jungle is beautiful but it grows old."

She shook her head decidedly. "No. _You_ grow old, the jungle stays the same." She smirked up at him. "You envy it."

He smiled, amused. "Do I?"

She nodded. "Yes," she said simply, with no more explanation. Such an odd woman she was.

He could see the village up ahead and lifted his arm to point it out to her. She came to a stop at the very edge of the jungle and turned to him. In a voice so quiet, only he could hear her, she told him, "I would live here if I could."

He had spent most of his life in the jungle and it was filled with some of the most wild and vicious beasts. There was beauty, as she saw, but it was equaled by its ferocity. "It is not safe."

She turned, staring up at him as if searching for something. "Would you keep me safe?" She lifted a hand and pressed it to his chest, directly over his heart.

There was a spark all through his skin, but he chose to ignore it. Perhaps night was coming early and the wind had a chill to it.

Her question warranted an answer and he was surprised with his own, but knew it was true. "Yes."

She smiled brilliantly, as if he'd just given her the sun itself. "Then I will return one day and we will live in the jungle."

Tlacelel shook his head. "Who are you, Sun Child?"

"I am Chalchiutl," she answered proudly. Her green eyes lit with great laughter as she stepped back toward the village. "Will you wait for my return, Hunter?"

He nodded. "I will."

She smiled before turning and running back toward the village, her hair swishing at her shoulders. She turned to look back at him, her smile making his stomach clench. She thought the jungle was beautiful, but it was her that rivaled all else.

* * *

Tlacelel didn't speak with her next until a few weeks later. He had heard talk of her wedding approaching. She would marry Xiuhcoatl, a hunter who was fierce with the animals and even meaner with the other hunters. He had bedded a number of the women in the village, including those with husbands. Though no one asked his opinion, Tlacelel didn't think Xiuhcoatl deserved the Sun Child. She was too beautiful and pure for the likes of Xiuhcoatl.

Just days before when she was to be wed, Tlacelel found her once more, lost in the jungle. She did not look so smitten with the flora this time, but instead sat crying in the grass.

He was stealthy as he climbed the trees and slipped through the grass to get to her side, so quiet she didn't hear him approach. He reached out, his fingers touching her face, wiping away a stream of tears. "What makes you cry, Sun Child?"

"I cannot love him, I cannot marry him." Despite her tears, she bared her teeth in anger. But it wavered as she stared up at him, her large green eyes sad and hopeful. "Take me away, Hunter. We will live in the jungle and never return to the village again." She reached out, taking some of his long, dark hair in her hands and stroking it to distract herself from her misery.

"You would leave your family and friends?" His parents had died before he could know them and so the old women of the tribe took care of him and raised him well. They had died long ago, but he repaid their debt as best he could. He would never turn his back on the kind people of his tribe, not after all they had done for him.

She shook her head, sniffling. Her thumb still stroked his long hair. "They do not care. I am strange to them. Strange and wrong." She lifted a shoulder. "Xiuhcoatl will find another wife and maybe then I can return."

He frowned, reaching out to lift her chin so she was looking at him directly. "The jungle is no place for a home. It is not safe for just two."

She stared deep into his eyes, pleading. "You can keep me safe. I trust you."

His brow furrowed. "Why?" Why did he trust her? Why did he wait for this day to come, when she would do as she said and return to him and the jungle? It was not right and yet she fascinated him so.

Her hand fell, finding his chest. "Your heart," she murmured in explanation. "It beats faster when I touch you."

His didn't understand.

She stood up on her knees, her face near his. "My heart does the same when I see you." She smiled. "I saw you in the village. You play with the children and you talk to the old women. You teach the young boys and you take care of the wives with no husbands to provide for them. You are not like Xiuhcoatl." She shook her head. "You are better." She sniffled, gazing up into his eyes. "Will you have me, Hunter? We will live in the jungle and we will raise children in the trees!" She grinned.

He tried not to grin at her foolishness. "You dream, Sun Child." He reached up, running his hand down her face. He was right. She had the softest skin.

"I dream of you, Hunter." She untied the top of her animal hide and let her bare chest show to him and then took his hand from her face and lowered it to between her breasts. "Feel my heart," she murmured. He was distracted for a moment by the soft flesh of her breasts and the warm, silky feel of her skin. But then he felt the quick thrum of her heartbeat, so fast beneath his fingertips. She leaned forward and he could feel the hard tips of her breasts against his bare chest. Her mouth was so close he could feel her hot breath against his lips. "I will be a good wife to you, Hunter."

He swallowed tightly. It was hard to think rationally with her naked body pressed against him. He should say no, he should send her back to her village, he should stand by as she married Xiuhcoatl. Instead, he kissed her. His arms wrapped around her, hands sliding up her back. She was soft and pliable and hot against him. Her tongue tangled with his, her breathing erratic. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest and knew his own was matching each rapid thump. His hand fell down the curve of her back and along her thigh, slipping beneath the hide covering her bottom and stroking the curve of her butt intimately. His hand wrapped around her thigh at the juncture of her legs and drew her closer.

Tlacelel did not know what love was or what it meant. He knew that he dreamt of her every night since he met her in the jungle. Of her inquisitive green eyes and how they explored the jungle as if its beauty was incomparable. He thought of her hand roaming over his chest and how the sun had danced around her like a beacon drawing his eye. He thought of eyes whenever he looked at the greenest of trees and he felt himself smile whenever he thought of what odd thing she might say to him if she were there, at his side as he hunted. He couldn't get her off his mind. And he saw her too as she walked through the village, speaking with the other women and laughing with the children. And always, _always_ staring longingly at the jungle.

She would be a good wife, he decided. She would be _his_ wife.

Before any such dreams could truly be dreamt, there was a ruckus behind them and he broke apart from her lips. It must've been the hunter in him because he was still sensing his surroundings while she was simply dazed and confused by his sudden pause in their kissing. His eyes narrowed, searching the jungle for a sign of who might be there. And then a man was stepping out of the bushes; Xiuhcoatl.

"You betray me," he roared, reaching out and grabbing Chalchiutl by her hair and dragging her backwards along the dirt ground.

Tlacelel stood up, briefly wondering where he left his bow. He glared at Xiuhcoatl. "She is not yours."

"She belongs to me Tlacelel! I was promised her," he yelled.

"Find another!"

"I want no other."

Tlacelel thinned his eyes challengingly. "Then I will fight you for her and you will lose."

Xiuhcoatl laughed, throwing his head back and letting go of Chalchiutl's hair, letting her fall to the ground. She hurried away from him and ran toward Tlacelel, standing at his side and placing her hand over his arm.

Xiuhcoatl stopped laughing only to sneer at them. He whistled loudly and four more hunters stepped out from the bushes, armed with spears. "You have broken our laws, Hunter. You take another man's betrothed. You take _my_ wife." He poked his chest, shaking his head. "You will die and she will be mine as she was meant to."

" _NO!_ " Chalchiutl cried, shaking her head violently.

"You will not fight me on your own, Xiuhcoatl?" Tlacelel glared at the man in front of him, standing smug and superior.

"Coward!" Chalchiutl spat.

Xiuhcoatl turned toward her abruptly. "You will learn your place, wife, or I will cut your tongue from you!"

"You will not have her," Tlacelel warned him.

"She is already mine!" He lifted his arm, telling the others to attack. "Chalchiutl, step aside!"

"I will not!"

Xiuhcoatl stood, steaming. "Step aside, Chalchiutl or you too will die here in the jungle!"

"I belong in the jungle and so I will die here!"

Xiuhcoatl stared at her, as if waiting for her to realize that she was being foolish and walk to him. He did not know her, Tlacelel decided. Chalchiutl would not leave. Angry and likely humiliated by her choice, he ordered the others, "Kill them."

The spears jabbed at them as if they were animals running from the hunters out for a feast. Tlacelel felt them pierce his skin and let not one scream out. He felt the blood seep from his wounds and puddle in the jungle dirt. He could hear Chalchiutl's crying, her moans of pain, and he ached to take it from her. Still, she did not beg for them to stop or to let her live. She did not change her mind. She laid in a heap in the grass and dirt, her stomach and shoulders torn open, weeping with blood. The sun dimmed then, no longer collecting around her with joy. She reached for him as she gurgled up blood, searching but finding no air. He took her hand, their fingers clutched together tightly.

He saw the warrior approach, ready to spear her through her heart, and he moved as quick as a tiger, covering her. It pierced though his entirety and still went into her, right down into the jungle ground. She stared up at him, her eyes wide as her body went limp. He stroked her soft face; her green eyes glittered no more.

"Such a fool you are, Tlacelel," Xiuhcoatl told him, kneeling in the dirt.

Tlacelel's strength dwindled and he felt himself dying along with his sweet Sun Child. ]

"You die now and for what?"

Tlacalel raised his eyes toward him. "I die a warrior's death," he choked out before he let his head fall, resting it against her neck. "I die fighting for my love." He could feel his heartbeat slowing to nothing, just like hers.

He did not regret it.


	2. The Healer and Her Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He always followed orders until he was ordered never to touch her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Egyptian Time Period -- again, i didn't do much research so I apologize for my 2008 self

**Part Two** : _The Healer and Her Guard_

Jabari had been the most revered guard to the pharaoh once, but an injury had him standing in new chambers. He had never met the healer before, nor did he believe in her witchcraft. The pharaoh did though and Jabari trusted his leader. He had been ordered to watch over the healer, to make sure no one came near her, nobody touched her, nobody so much as _looked_ at her. She was off limits; a goddess in a sense. She could heal with only her touch but such abilities could only be used by the pharaoh himself.

Jabari waited, arms locked behind his back for the healer to notice him. Her last guard had not agreed with her and so she wanted a new one. In fact, from what he heard, she changed guards constantly. She did not trust them, she told the pharaoh.

He had not been ready for how she would greet him. She was exiting her bathtub wearing absolutely nothing. Water streamed down her beautiful body, sluicing over her breasts and down her flat stomach. Her lean legs took her forward, eyes centered directly on him. He stood still, too shocked to do anything but stare. Her hair was midnight black and fell long down her back in dripping wet tangles. She showed no surprise nor fear as she stood bare before him, simply walking closer, a sway to her round hips. His hands tightened into fists at his back. He wished to reach out, to stoke her sweet face, to touch her dark skin. Unnaturally green eyes, brighter than any emerald he'd seen before, glittered up at him.

She came to a halt directly in front of him, so close he could nearly feel her body heat through his robes. Her arm rose and he wondered what she might do, but she reached past him to the robe hanging on the wall and wrapped herself in it. He swallowed tightly, hoping his desire was not as evident as it felt.

She hummed, turning and walking to sit down. "My new guard."

He bowed his head agreeably. "I am Jabari and I will guard you with my life."

She smiled up at him and he was surprised to feel his chest clench. "I am Khepri. And I ask not for your life, but for your passion."

He frowned. "My passion?"

"Too long have I been trapped in this pyramid." She sighed. "I long for passion. What is yours? What inspires you, Guardian Jabari?"

He cleared his throat, eyes turning off. "I enjoy my bow and arrow."

Her brow furrowed. "What is this bow and arrow you speak of?"

"A weapon - one I am very skilled with."

"Weapons." Her nose wrinkled with distaste. "I care not for them."

"They will save you should harm come." Only a woman would dislike such useful tools, he decided.

"So, I need not a guard, but a weapon to keep me from harm?" she queried, her lips quirking.

"No. You are not skilled with such things. You need a guard to wield them for you."

Her brows arched. "And if I have you teach me how, we can be rid of each other and I may guard myself?"

"The pharaoh wants you safe and I am here to keep you so." He tried to remain stoic, but she was trying his patience.

"You said yourself that a weapon would keep me from harm and I need only have someone skilled with such things. You are skilled with the bow and I am not. So you will teach me and I will have no need for guards any longer." She nodded decidedly before turning to the bowl of grapes on her table.

He shook his head; such a stubborn woman. "You do not like me then?"

She turned to him in surprise. "I did not say that."

"But you wish to be rid of me?"

She lifted a shoulder. "I wish to be rid of all guards."

"I am included then." He shook his head with a frown. "So, you do not like me."

"You twist my words," she accused, eyes narrowing.

He grinned. "Then we are even."

She laughed richly, her head falling back and he found the sound was the most glorious of all. "You are not like the others..."

"And you are not like any woman I have met."

"We will get along." She nodded before holding the bowl of grapes out to him. It was the start of an interesting job.

* * *

 

While his injury healed, Jabari had his hands full with the curious Khepri. She wanted to know all about the land outside of the pyramids. She wanted to explore everything and know all that was going on with the people. She had only known the guards and the pharaoh her entire life. Her unusual talent had been realized early and so, from just an infant, she was the pharaoh's personal healer. She was well schooled by the best and truly charming, but she was bored with the world she'd been given and she wanted more.

Weeks went by and Jabari noticed the other guards were beginning to wonder why he was still there. The others had been exchanged within a few days but he had lasted longer than anyone before him. After getting the pharaoh's permission, he took Khepri for a walk through the pyramid, introducing her to the others and enjoying how excited she became to see the children and the servants in person. She treated them all equally, so happy to be able to breathe air that was not of her chamber. He was eventually able to convince the pharaoh to let him take her out of the pyramid for a walk in the sandy surroundings. She was so delighted, she hugged him, and he was forced to ignore the way his body reacted to her embrace. He was fast becoming charmed by her and he knew that it was not right. She was a healer and so she was not to be touched.

She was like a child taking her first steps when she hopped off the stairs of the pyramid to the sand. She touched it with her fingers and dug her toes deep down into it. She stared up at the sky and lifted her hands toward the sun. Spinning around and around, she danced gleefully. "I am most pleased!" she declared, laughing. She turned to him, eyes sparkling up at him. "You are my favorite, Jabari!"

"You wish not to be rid of me then, Healer?"

She shook her head, twirling in the sand with her arms high above her head. "I will keep you forever!"

He smiled. For some reason, that thought did not sound as terrible as it might have when he was first placed as her guard.

* * *

 

A month into watching her, Jabari found his injury had completely healed. His pharaoh had told him that when he was able, he could return to him and another would take his place in the healer's chambers. But he did not want to go. He enjoyed her presence too much and he found he disliked the idea that another might replace him. They were sitting in her chamber that night; she was allowed to walk around the pyramid once a day under the pharaoh's order and she relished in every moment. But night had fallen and so she was lying on her bed across from him, a Senet board between them.

"You must return to him soon," she murmured, glancing up at him from below her dark lashes.

His jaw tensed. "I am not ready."

"You were ready last week." She shook her head. "He is your pharaoh and you are his best guard."

"I am your best guard, too."

She smiled. "Yes, but you were meant for more than guarding the healer."

"You underestimate yourself." He moved one of his pawns along the board.

"You overestimate me." She slid her knucklebone piece to its new place. She always won Senet, he found.

He raised an eyebrow; challenging her. "You are who said you would keep me forever, remember?" 

She frowned. "Wishful thinking, Guardian."

"It doesn't have to be," he said quietly.

She lifted her eyes. "You would stay with me, Jabari?"

"I would." He nodded. He did not want to leave. He feared he would not see her again.

She shook her head, smiling. "You are too good to me." She sat up slowly, her robe tightening around her front, hugging her breasts. His eyes fell to stare as they often did. She was truly the most beautiful creature in all of Egypt. She caught him staring, as she usually did, but did not ignore it this time. "Have you been with women before, Jabari?"

He paused. "Such questions are not asked, healer."

Her brows furrowed. "Why?"

He shook his head, lifting a shoulder.

"I have not been with a man," she informed him. He swallowed tightly. "Do you think I will die as such?"

"You will not die." His voice turned deep and serious. "And if you do, you will return."

"My soul might, but I do not believe this body will." She shook her head. "I have seen so little; touched so few." She lifted her eyes to look at him. "I want to _feel_ , Jabari," she confessed.

His sigh was faint and quiet. "What are you asking of me, Khepri?"

She moved the board out of the way and reached out for his hand, lifting it slowly. He watched as she pressed her lips against his rough fingertips, one by one. She kissed down his palm before placing her chin in it and looking up at him. Everything she wanted was there in her eyes and while he knew he shouldn't, he did. He moved across the bed, his free arm wrapping around her waist and drawing her petite body up against him. She gasped, her eyes falling to half-mast as she stared up at him. Her hand rose, fingers dragging over his face. He leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. She sighed into his mouth; her lips parted and his tongue slid inside to dance with hers. Her arm wrapped around his neck, hesitant at first, not sure what to do. Her body responded as if it knew though, her legs parting to cradles him, her body pressed up against him in an arch.

He undid the tie at her neck holding her robes around her and pushed the fabric down to her waist. He could feel her soft, creamy flesh bare against his own. One of his hands buried in her hair, cradling her neck, while the other fell down her back, stroking her spine and her hips. He broke away from her mouth to kiss down her neck, leaning her back until she was laid out on the bed beneath him. He suckled at her skin, sweet as honey beneath his tongue. His large hands roamed down her sides, stroking at her skin feverishly. She squirmed and arched into his hands in anticipation. He kissed down her chest until he found her breasts and wrapped his mouth around one pebbled nipple. She cried out, her hand reaching out to clutch at his dark hair. His hands slid beneath her shoulders, lifting her up as he suckled at her before kissing across the valley to her other breast. His tongue laved at her, teeth grazing her sensitive skin. He couldn't count how many times he'd dreamt of this;  _wished_ for this. Ever since he saw her walking toward him, bare of any cloth, he couldn't get the vision of beauty out of his head. And knowing her, learning her personality and hearing her laugh and seeing her smile, it made it all the harder to remember that she was the untouchable.

He broke away from her heaving chest to kiss down her ribs and along her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel while his teeth nipped along her belly. His hands fell lower to rid her of the last of her robes, pulling them over her slim thighs and throwing them away entirely. The nest of dark curls at the juncture of her thighs were already glistening. He slid his hands beneath her thighs and parted her legs further, lifting them up and placing them over his shoulder. He kissed down her inner thigh, slow and torturous, watching as she stared at him with intense pleasure and curiosity. As his tongue found her slit and dragged along her folds, she lifted her hips upward. His mouth buried against her most intimate place, tongue stroking and thrusting into her. She tasted better than the sweetest of wines. She clutched at his hair, her nails scraping over his neck as she cried in pleasure and need. He kissed her folds, tongue stroking her clit, and enjoyed the shaking of her every inch as she felt the most intense of passions.

She lay panting, her eyes closed and her body still jerking. He climbed upward, kissing her stomach and her breasts until he was face to face with her. She opened her eyes slowly, looking up at him with a soft smile. She reached up, her hands cupping his face before they ran them down to his neck and stroked his shoulders. Tipping her head, she pressed slow kisses against his mouth, tongue tracing his lips. As her hands fell lower, he felt them at his waist, tugging at the cloth covering his lower half. It came loose, falling to lay unused against her legs. She tugged it out of the way and tossed it to the floor. Her knees raised and he felt them at his sides. He ached to be inside of her, so hard and wanting for her heat.

She slid her hands up his back, pushing at his shoulders as if to urge him. He lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers before thrusting deep inside her. She cried out against his mouth, her nails tearing at his skin. Her hands clutched at him, holding him in place and he panted against her lips, eyes falling closed in pained pleasure. He kissed down her jaw to her neck, burying his face there. He could feel her moving around, trying to get used to the feeling, and he found his thin restraint falling apart.

"Khepri," he moaned.

She lifted her hips and it was her only sign that he was free to move. He pulled out of her nearly entirely before slipping back in. Her heat surrounded him wholly, so tight and quivering against his length in the most incredible way. He could tell by the pinch of her face that it still felt strange, but with each thrust, the sensations turned good for her. Her mouth fell open and her brows lifted as she panted and moaned. Her hands fell down his back to hold his hips tightly, drawing him into her as deep as he could get.

"Dear gods," she panted, her hips gyrating and lifting to meet him now.

One of her hands slid into his hair, tugging sporadically. He kissed along her collar and over her shoulder, up her neck as he held tight to one of her thighs and stroked her cheek with the other. He'd been with women before. He hadn't wanted a wife and he never went back to any woman again. His job was his life and he liked it that way. But now, here, with his Khepri, he couldn't imagine touching another woman again. She was so beautiful and so tender and so entirely perfect beneath him and around him.

He could feel her shaking, the edge close, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. Not with how she cried his name or how she quivered around him tightly. She urged him to speed up, her hands at his back, clutching at his skin, nails scraping along his back. He lifted his head to kiss her, his hand sliding down from her thigh to where they connected. He stroked her clit with each thrust of his tongue against hers. And together, they leapt over the edge, shaking and flying and embracing the passionate end.

She whispered his name against his lips-- " _Jabari, Jabari, Jabari_ "-- while he kissed her, slow and delicate. Her eyes were closed and her hands were now stroking his shoulders once more.

He stayed where he was, pressed deep inside of her, still feeling the aftershocks as she fluttered around him. He stroked her cheek, damp with sweat. She looked up at him with her beautiful green eyes and he could see himself there. Brown eyes and flushed face, dark hair plastered against his head.

She smiled, slow and sleepy. "I think I will keep you forever," she murmured.

He grinned, kissing her chin.

The doors behind them were thrown open abruptly however and the moment was ruined. In charged the pharaoh and a handful of guards, all looking furious.

"Jabari, my greatest ally, how could you?" the pharaoh yelled at him, shaking his head.

He swallowed tightly, eyes lowering. He did not have an answer that his king would like.

"And Khepri, after all I have done for you!" He sneered. "You are of no use to me now. You are soiled!" He motioned to the guard next to him. "Take her away. Her head for her betrayal!"

He could feel Khepri's hands against his chest and her body shaking with fear. But she did not cry out, nor ask for forgiveness. She was dragged out from beneath him, the guard pulling her arms behind her back and forcing her away from him.

"Filthy!" the pharaoh yelled at her, striking her harshly across her face. She was dragged off while Jabari was forced to stay where he was, the three remaining guards watching him. "And you..." The pharaoh turned to him, shaking his head. "I trusted you, Jabari."

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. It was a betrayal of the highest degree, he knew that. But he couldn't honestly tell his king it was a mistake.

"You have been tempted by her charms and so she shall pay for you both. But you... You will earn your place as guard again. You will watch the _cooks_ until I feel you have learned your mistake," he shouted.

Jabari lifted his head abruptly. "You would kill her?"

"She is no longer a healer, Jabari. Her sins have taken her abilities. I have no use for her." He waved his hand uncaringly. "She will give her head to cleanse her of her betrayal to me."

"You cannot!"

The pharaoh's eyes narrowed. "You are still blinded by her beauty, but you will learn her true colors in the years to come." He turned back to his guards. "Take him. He will see her repentance."

One of the guards tossed him his cloth and he retied it around his waist, his jaw clenched tight as they pushed him closer and closer to where they were keeping her. His heart leapt into his throat as she was forced to kneel, her head laid over a red stained table. He shook his head. "Please, pharaoh," he asked, turning to the man he once gave his entire loyalty to, without question.

"She is only a woman, Jabari." He nodded toward the man armed with a large axe and ready to behead her.

The guards pushed him closer, holding him from going to her as she knelt, crying as she stared up at him. "I will keep you," she whispered tearfully.

He ran forward, only to be pulled back by the other guards. He reached for their scimitar and used their surprise against them. Taking it with ease, he plunged it into one of the guard's stomachs before turning to the next and slicing through his throat. He ran forward, but was too intent on her that he wasn't watching his own back. A guard wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him back, forcing him to his knees. He felt the scimitar enter his shoulder and grimaced in pain. He could hear Khepri screaming out for him, not because she was going to die, but because he was hurting.

His arm rose, reaching for her, but she was still too far, and the axe came down with a fail swoop, colliding with her neck. Simultaneously, he felt the scimitars enter his back, thrust with anger. A tear escaped his eye and his hand hung in the air, still reaching for her. He cared not for the life leaving him quickly; he felt his stomach turn as her headless body slumped to the floor. He closed his eyes and thought of her bright smile, of how joyful she was as she stood in the sand for the first time. And he vowed that when their souls returned, they would find each other again. He slipped to the floor, arm outstretched, fingers straining toward her. He took his last breath and whispered her name.

"Khepri, my love."


	3. The Servant and Her Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was her only solution to getting rid of the princess; too bad he wanted her instead.

**Part Three** : _The Servant and Her Knight_

Anne was walking through the courtyard, waving her greetings to the cook and her husband the blacksmith when she saw him. He rode up on a beautiful steed, dressed in armor but wearing no helmet. The king's knights were returning, she knew, but she hadn't expected them so early. Princess Dina would not be pleased; she wanted to look her best when Knight Olyver returned. The man sitting high on the horse handed his reigns to the young man who came out to help and jumped down. His hair shone a brilliant gold and he directed a warm smile at her. When she realized she was staring, she turned her gaze away and directed herself toward Maid Martha's hut to pick up the dress that Dina had ordered be made for the knight's return. She knocked on the door and waited, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. She'd been up since dawn and hadn't stopped moving. Princess Dina always had something new for her to do. She remembered when she'd first been given the opportunity to attend the princess by the king himself and she felt as though she were really appreciated, only to find that Dina was quite spoiled and very emotional.

The door opened and Maid Martha smiled at her kindly. "Come in, Anne, I've been waiting for you."

Nodding appreciatively, Anne stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

"Are you hungry? I just made a stew, but my son Clement and your cousin Louise have gone off to the market, bickering all the way I'm sure." She chuckled.

Anne nodded. Clement and Louise had been married three years and, while they were obviously young and in love, they still argued like an old couple. "The knights have returned and so Dina will have a fit if I don't get the dress up to her soon. I wouldn't mind a small bowl though. I missed breakfast earlier."

Maid Martha tisked. "You run yourself ragged for that woman and what do you get in return?"

Anne lifted a shoulder, taking a seat at the table. "It's my duty."

"Give it to someone else. You would do far better elsewhere. Or you could find yourself a good husband..." she hinted.

Anne shook her head. "I'm not looking for any husband. I'm content without any more men in my life. I clean up after enough of them as it is."

"Well, this would be different." Martha shook her head. "Wouldn't you like to be taken care of for once?"

"I can take care of myself," she replied, stirring her stew.

Martha placed a slab of black bread next to her and then brushed her hands off. "When you meet the right man, you'll change your mind."

Anne snorted disagreeably, but filled her mouth with the delicious stew so not to be impolite.

There was a knock at the door and Martha went to answer it. As it opened, Anne listened with half an interested ear.

"Olyver!" Martha exclaimed. "Why Anne was just telling me the knights had arrived early!"

"Only me so far, ma'am," he replied in a deep voice. "I went ahead to clear the way."

Anne tried to quench her curiosity which screamed for her to turn and look. It couldn't have been the knight she'd seen earlier. He wasn't what Dina had described. Then again, he had been covered in his armor.

"I could smell your stew from near the stables and thought I'd come and beg you to feed a starving knight."

Martha laughed. "Of course, of course. There's plenty to go around. Clement and Louise have gone to the market and won't be back for some time."

"Is Clement still adamant that he not join my knights?" Olyver stepped inside the hut. "He would make a great solider."

Martha shook her head. "My boy wants to be a farmer like his father and that is all he will be." She motioned to the table. "Sit and I will prepare a bowl."

Olyver crossed to sit down across from Anne, sending her another of his disarmingly warm smiles. She nearly choked on her stew; it _was_ the knight she'd seen earlier. While his eyes were a deep brown, she wouldn't say they were "caverns of dark, stoic masculinity," as Dina had. They were warm and kind, in a way she rarely saw in the men she was often around. Except in the old stable hand, Jonas - he was gruff in appearance, but just about the nicest man she'd ever known. And while his face was quite chiseled, hiss jaw defined, it did not appear as though "his face was marble carved by angels," as Dina had so eloquently put it. He was handsome, to be sure; high cheekbones, nice lips, and a cleft in his chin that she found quite adorable. His jaw was covered in a few days stubble and she tightened her hand around the wooden spoon in her stew so not to reach out and touch it.

"This is Anne," Martha said, putting his bowl of stew down in front of him. "She attends the Princesses' every whim and desire."

Anne rolled her eyes. "She's not a fanciful child, Maid Martha. She's simply a little over indulged."

"What was it she wanted last week?" Martha tipped her head thoughtfully. "Oh yes, eleven pink flowers and seven red, two yellow, and no dirt on any of them. She then wanted them wrapped in blue twine and arranged perfectly. Of course, you were supposed to deliver them to her mother and tell her that Dina sent her a handmade gift." Martha shook her head. "Rotten and spoiled, that one."

"Oh, bite your tongue," Anne replied, chuckling. She glanced at Olyver and noticed his smile as he quietly ate his stew. She really should hype up the princess, that way her knight could take her away and perhaps then Anne could get some sleep. "She's actually quite nice and very pretty. In fact, the other day, she was playing with the children out in the courtyard. Didn't give any thought to that silk dress she wore. She got covered in mud but the children had fun!" She smiled up at Martha in hopes that she'd go along. There was no way Princess Dina would step anywhere near children, let alone play with them in the mud.

Martha's eyes narrowed speculatively and then she shook her head as she glanced at Olyver and realized what was going on. "I've been telling you since you were knee high to quit with your lies, Anne! That was _you_ out there getting muddy with the children. Princess Dina _hates_ children."

"She doesn't _hate_ them," Anne disagreed, shaking her head and trying to plead with her mentally. "She just dislikes dirty children."

Martha laughed. "Oh! When will you stop hoping someone will come along and take her away and simply leave yourself?" she asked, moving to sit next to her. "I would never wish her upon Olyver here and I would hope you wouldn't either."

Olyver's hand stilled as it rose, spoon in hand. He looked over at them, eyes wide. "You were hoping I'd marry Princess Dina?" Slowly, his look of shock turned to amusement and he began laughing uproariously.

Anne sighed, frowning. "All right, all right. So, she isn't the easiest woman to get along with, but surely you've seen her? She truly is beautiful!"

He looked at her incredulously. "Of course I've seen her. She comes looking for me every time I return. She's exactly what Maid Martha said she was. Spoiled rotten and completely self-involved. I've seen her shoo the children away when all they wanted to do was get a peek at a princess. And she runs everybody ragged for useless things. She once sent three of my knights to the next town over to get her a horse she'd heard was ‘ _the prettiest in all the land.'_ When they arrived back, she told them to return it because she disagreed with the assessment. You do _not_ send knights for horses!" He shook his head, frowning. "You can boast of all the good things she's never done all night, I'm not marrying the wench." He broke his black bread in half and dipped it into the stew. "Don't know how you can stand to see her day to day, to be honest."

Anne stirred her stew moodily. Looked like she was never going to be rid of the princess, but she so loved working in the castle. Well, so long as Alexander wasn't around. Fellow knight to Olyver, he was a sickly fellow. Always getting far too acquainted with her when he'd had too much wine. She was constantly batting his hands away and avoiding him when he'd sobered back up. He'd boasted to many a knight that he'd bed her in no time and she was sure to turn him down each time. He turned her stomach. His bright red hair and blue eyes would've looked handsome on some, but as soon as she saw him coming, she thought only of vomiting.

She finished up her stew and then stood. "I best bring Dina her dress. Thank you, Martha, both for the stew and your hard work." She glanced at Olyver, "You're sure you won't change your mind?"

He chuckled, smiling at her, and she knew his answer was still no.

"Fine. Nice meeting you," she said, before turning to leave.

"I'll walk you to the castle," he offered, standing from the table and wiping his mouth.

"I know my way, thank you. It's perfectly safe."

"It will be while I walk you there." He was as stubborn as a mule, she decided. His hand found the small of her back and directed her out of the hut. "A thousand thank yous, Maid Martha. Your food is wonderful as always."

She smiled, nodding her farewell to both of them.

With Dina's dress over her arm, Anne started walking toward the castle at a fast pace. Perhaps if she were lucky, Dina would be so mortified at seeing Olyver without her gown, she'd hide away in her room all night. Or, even better, she'd get the gown to her before Olyver saw her and Dina could wow the knight into changing his mind completely and taking her off into the sunset, never to be seen again. She smirked.

"May I ask what amuses you?" Olyver kept pace next to her, his arms clasped behind his back.

He really was quite tall, she noticed, tipping her head to look directly in his eyes. "You may not."

He grinned. "I enjoy your candor, Lady Anne."

"Just Anne," she corrected, shaking her head.

He nodded. "Will you be joining us for dinner, Just Anne?"

She hid her smile with a frown. "I'll be serving dinner, Sir Olyver."

"Just Olyver," he replied, smirking.

She lifted her hand to wave to the people passing her by. A few children ran past, laughing and pushing each other. "Morning Anne!" they'd shout to her.

"Stay out of the mud, Thomas!" she called after them. "Your mum was not happy with you yesterday!"

They laughed as they continued to run away.

She frowned. "He'll be covered in it before nightfall."

"That's children for you," he replied, nodding.

Realizing she'd spoken aloud, she cleared her throat and glanced at him once more. "Do you usually ride ahead of your knights?"

"Sometimes." He lifted a shoulder. "I left Alexander in charge; he'll handle them well."

She scowled.

"You don't like him?"

"I didn't say that," she replied curtly.

He opened the castle doors for her and waited for her to walk in before following. "You didn't have to. It was written on your face."

"And you can read my face now, Just Olyver?" She lifted a challenging brow.

"I believe I can," he said with a nod. "What is it that bothers you about my knight?"

She shook her head, making her way to the stairs leading to the bedrooms. She knew he would not follow. As she reached the middle, she turned toward him, seeing him standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching her leave. "He boasts of things that will not happen. Your knight cannot handle his mead and I daresay he has wandering hands." She lifted her chin. "If you'll excuse me, Dina needs her dress. A certain knight is due to arrive and she must look her best."

He frowned, obviously knowing he was who she dressed up for.

She smirked before turning around and climbing the stairs.

"I will take care of Alexander for you, Just Anne. He won't bother you again," he promised, his voice deep with what sounded like anger.

She turned toward him curiously, only to find him retreating toward the doors once more. She was surprised to find herself disappointed at his leaving. He was infuriating and quick and entirely too charming for her taste. With a sigh, she made her way to Dina's chambers and knocked. She was in for a long day, she knew.

* * *

 

Later that night, Anne served dinner to the three tables set up of hungry knights. Dina sat next to her father and across from his favorite knight, Olyver. She batted her eyes and leaned forward to give him a good look at her obvious cleavage spilling over the dress she had Martha make just so. He didn't look at her once, instead his eyes centered on the king, keeping up a constant stream of conversation about what they had done during their journey and discussing where next they might go.

Anne was careful to avoid Alexander's table altogether, and had Elizabeth take care of it for her. She always did like Alexander and was happy with the attention he gave her.

"Anne, bring the mead. Sir Olyver's glass grows empty," Dina called to her.

With a sigh, she brought the jug over to the table and came up next to him. She leaned over, filling his cup and then checking the king's to see if his too needed filling. Instead of moving around the table like she would have, the king lifted his for her to fill and so she was forced to lean across quite uncomfortably. She realized with a start that Olyver's eyes had wandered from the king then and were now perusing her. She flushed, but hoped the warmth of the room would hide it. She pulled back, holding the nearly empty jug to her bosom and stood awkwardly for a moment.

"You duties are done for the night." Dina's voice was as cold as ice as she glared up at Anne.

Anne quickly concluded that she wasn't the only one to notice Olyver's gaze. She nodded, turning on her heel to leave.

"I'll walk you out," Olyver suggested, rising from his seat.

Anne turned around, eyes wide. "Thank you, but I'll be fine, I assure you."

"And I would be more comfortable if a lady didn't leave the castle unattended."

"He's quite right, Annie," the king declared, smiling at the young woman before he nodded. "It is late. The knights will likely celebrate until the early morn and you need not be bothered with them. Elizabeth and Fran will take care of everything. Go on home, girl."

"Oh but... But..." Dina sputtered, obviously not anticipating that Olyver would find a way to get around her manipulation of the night.

Anne knew she couldn't deny the king and so she nodded to Olyver before turning to walk away. She placed the jug down at the table where Alexander sat, getting a thankful wink from Elizabeth as she did, and then walked toward the kitchens to gather her cloak. Olyver walked a polite distance behind her until she was ready and said goodnight to the king before he left. He held the door for her once more, which she still found odd as she had been opening her own doors since she was just a child.

The night was dark and the moon sat brilliantly in the sky. Stars glowed high above and the large grass field ahead of them was lit up just enough. They walked out of the courtyard quietly, passing by Maid Martha's hut and the stables as they went. There was a slight chill in the air that she welcomed after the overwhelming heat of the kitchen and the dining area. She pushed her hair back and tipped her head to let her cheeks feel the breeze. As she opened her eyes to see the stars, she noticed Olyver staring at her.

"Does something bother you?" 

He shook his head, returning his gaze to the path in front of him. "How far do you live?"

"Just outside the woods."

"Alone?" He sounded surprised.

She glanced over at him. "My father is usually there but..." She smiled slightly. "He's been rather... _occupied_ with Widow Amelia in town."

He smiled, knowingly. The grass crunched beneath their feet and she could see in the far distance the darkness of her hut. Her father must've left early if there was no fire ready. As they drew closer, she wondered when it would be polite to tell him he could leave. When they reached the door, she turned and opened her mouth to thank him. But he managed to surprise her still when he walked around the hut to the wood pile and collected an armful. With a sigh, she opened her door and let him in. He piled half next to the fireplace and the other half inside of it. Within a few minutes, he had the fire going strong and the chilly inside of the house was slowly but surely warming. He brushed his hands off and turned to her. She sat the small kitchen table, head propped on her arm. She'd have to be up early tomorrow and back to work.

"If you don't care for working for her, why do you stay?" he wondered.

She lifted her gaze to him. "I enjoy working at the castle. It's hard and the days are long, but the people there are always interesting." She smiled. "Fran has two boys; one is six summers, the other four. They're troublemakers the both of them, but the nicest little boys you'll ever meet. The cook and her husband, the blacksmith, they act mean but they're really quite kind. Oh and Jonas the stable-hand, he's the sweetest man I've ever met. He's been teaching Robert how to tend the horses because he's growing old and says he can't do it much longer. But I bet you..." She nodded. "He'll be there at that stable until the day he dies. He loves it too much to leave."

"You would see them all even if you didn't work there though, wouldn't you?"

She lifted a shoulder. "I suppose, but not as often."

"You're a masochist, I think."

She chuckled. "Is that so?"

"It is." He shook his head. "Why put up with it if you don't have to? If not get another job, then why not start a family?"

"And who would I marry?" She raised an eyebrow. "Alexander?"

He snorted. "No. He could not handle your spirit."

She laughed, her eyes glittering. "You think you know me so well, Just Olyver?"

He smiled. "I would like to."

She shook her head, yawning.

"But knowing you can wait until tomorrow, you obviously need your sleep." He rose from his chair and walked toward the door. "Sweet dreams, Just Anne."

She smiled gently. Perhaps he was growing on her.

* * *

 

The next morning started out poorly.

"I don't want you to have any contact with him," Dina ordered, pacing her bedroom chambers.

"With who?" Anne asked, confused.

"Sir Olyver, of course!" Dina glared at her. "You were practically _thrusting_ your breasts into his face last night. It was not at all decent, Anne! I'm appalled by your behavior for you!" She shook her head, throwing her arms up. "To keep you from making a fool of yourself, I must order you to avoid him."

"Order me?" she repeated, eyes narrowed.

"It is for your own good. I have spoken with my father and told him of my wishes to wed Sir Olyver and he has agreed to speak to him for me. He is not..." She sighed, taking on an insincere expression. "You are not of his standards, dear Anne."

Anne clenched her jaw, blinking rapidly. "I have no desire to take your knight from you, Princess. And I truly apologize if I have acted uncivilized. That was not my intention," she said through gritted teeth. "I will have no more contact with Just-" She paused, swallowing tightly. "With Sir Olyver."

Dina nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. "This is good. Now, will you please help me dress already? Breakfast is waiting and I won't waste another second in this room. It is far too glorious a day, is it not?" She shook her head. "I have decided to give Olyver a gift to show him my affections. You shall find me one, won't you?"

Anne nodded mutely before turning to the task of helping Dina get ready.

* * *

 

Anne's day was more grueling than usual. She spent most of it answering the ridiculous desires of Dina's. She wanted her room moved around; she didn't like where everything was and so wanted it elsewhere. She wanted a bath, which meant walking back and forth from the stream to fill up the tub. She wanted fresh flowers for when she ate her lunch and she wanted the dogs to be washed; she said they smelled. By dinner time, Anne felt as though she were ready to collapse. She had easily avoided all of Olyver's casual conversation starts, stating that she was far too busy. But now that she was lying in the middle of a field, too tired to so much as move, she couldn't exactly run away when he appeared, standing over her. He smiled slightly before lying down so that their heads lay top to top.

"You know, it's quite hard to get to know you when you spend your day running from me," he told her, a tinge of amusement in his voice.

"I was not running from you. Although, I do think that it would be best if we stopped this silly... well, whatever it is."

"Are you not allowed friendships, Just Anne?"

"I have enough friends, Sir Olyver." She forced herself to sit up, despite how she ached.

"Exactly what has happened between last night and now that has changed your feelings toward me?" he queried, sitting up as well. He stared at her with confusion.

"There were no feelings to begin with. You misunderstand me." She tried to stand but failed; her legs hurt from all of her running and walking and dragging of water.

He walked around her and held his hands out for her to take. With a sigh, she reached up and took them. He pulled her up easily and his arm wrapped around her waist to keep her from falling when her legs felt wobbly beneath her. She tried not to notice how hard and strong he felt, pressed so close to her. She swallowed tightly. "Th-Thank you," she managed, her eyes staring up into his. "But I really must... I should..."

"Does this have to do with the princess?"

It all fell back into place and she tried to straighten up and stand back from his embrace, but he was too strong for her and didn't so much as budge as she moved. "Princess Dina feels it would be best if we no longer spoke or... or anything of that sort," she told him curtly.

"Is that what you feel?"

She could feel his hands playing with her long blonde hair, curling it around his fingers at the small of her back.

"I-I-" She cleared her throat. "I have no feelings on the subject." Her gaze fell, directed at the cleft of his chin and she couldn't help but think that while he may not have been carved out of marble by the angels themselves, he really was quite a beautiful man.

"You wouldn't care if we were never to speak again?" His hand slid up her back, tracing the curve. She felt her stomach tighten and her breath stutter. This wasn't like how it felt whenever Alexander tried the same. She felt dirty and disgusted by Alexander's touch, but Olyver's was making her feel something else entirely. There was a heat in her lower belly and a tingle across her skin.

"No," she breathed.

"You still hope that I marry Dina?" he wondered, drawing her a little tighter against his chest.

She swallowed tightly. He didn't deserve to live a life smothered by Dina. Still, she had her orders. "Y-Yes, of course. She's... And you're... She is of your standard."

"And what is my standard, Anne?" he asked lowly, his head tipping so that their faces were getting closer and closer.

"I just know I'm below it," she whispered.

"Then I will join you." She felt his nose graze hers before his lips brushed over her mouth. Her knees buckled, but he held her up. His mouth covered hers possessively, their tongues tangling. Her arms rose to wrap around his neck and she gasped as she felt his arousal already pressing against her stomach. His arms gripped her to him tightly while his tongue explored her mouth with fervor. She'd never been kissed before, never been touched like how she was now. His hands slid low to cup her bottom through her dress and lifted her up. She could feel his hard length through his pants, trailing lower until it met the juncture of her thighs, thick and pressing insistently between the layers of clothing between them. She knew they should stop, but she couldn't get the words out past her throat. Her tongue was too busy, her teeth nipping at his lips, her mouth meeting his, stroke for stroke.

"Anne?" she heard and the haze of passion slowly dissipated. "Anne, is that you?

She turned her head, noticing the smoke coming from her hut. "Yes, father."

"Come inside, dear. It's late and cold," he shouted to her.

"I- I'm coming."

Slowly, Olyver lowered her back to her feet and she shook her head. "This cannot happen again."

He frowned. "I don't care what the princess wants."

"But I do. I have to." She crossed her arms over herself defensively. "I cannot tell you to marry her and I won't. You deserve better than her. But I cannot betray her and I will not go against her orders." She stepped back. "I'm sorry if I've done anything wrong. I've never..." She turned her eyes away.

He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, stroking her face gently. "You did nothing wrong. If you think I'm going to give up on you this easily, you are mistaken, Just Anne."

"Please." She stared up at him. "For both our sakes."

He let his hand fall until it was at her chin. "I will see you tomorrow and the day after and eventually, when the princess grows weary of chasing after someone who does not want her, you and I will have our chance." He nodded his farewell, running his thumb over her bottom lip, before he turned and walked back across the field, toward the castle.

"I fear she will never grow weary," she whispered into the night.

* * *

 

As the week drew by, she found that Dina did not lose interest in Olyver, but instead became more adamant on turning his affections toward her. And he was just as good at avoiding them. Each day, Dina had another obscure task for Anne to do and she found Olyver accompanying her on her long jaunt through the forest for whatever Dina needed, or helping her carry the water to the tub when Dina wanted a bath at an odd hour. He appeared out of nowhere and always managed to stay out of sight of others, but he never once waned in showing Anne who he truly wanted.

"So what of this gift that's supposed to make me love her?" he asked while they chopped wood behind the castle.

"I have not found anything suitable yet." She picked up another log and placed it in front of him. She tried not to stare as his muscles rippled with each downward stroke of the axe, but it was really quite distracting. He glistened with sweat, his skin flushed red, and his arms and back flexed with each movement. Were all men so gloriously sculpted? she wondered.

"Should she give me _you_ , I would gladly profess love." He smirked. "Just not for her."

Anne sighed, moving the chopped wood to the side and placing another stump in front of him. "What do you know of love, Just Olyver?"

He grinned. "I know it is what I feel for you."

"How?" she challenged.

"You doubt me?" He stepped closer, tossing the axe away. He reached out, running a hand over her hair, plaited today and hanging down her back. "Have I not proven my affections?" He stared into her eyes. "You don't think I would marry you if given the chance?"

"You know little of me and yet you believe you love me..."

"I know you love tulips over roses. I've seen you venture to them in the fields. But you never pick them, not for her. I know you hate mead and love black bread with only raspberry jelly. You enjoy Martha's cooking more than the king's cook, but wouldn't tell her because as hard as she acts, you know how sensitive she can be." He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I know you adore your father and wish you knew your mother and that Martha's son Clarence is your most trusted friend. I know you play with the children and get covered in mud, but you don't care because you love seeing them laugh." He nodded. "I know more than you think, Just Anne."

She let out a breathy sigh, wanting to tell him that she dreamt of marrying him, too.

"Anne?" a sharp voice called out.

She broke away from Olyver's touch and turned abruptly. "Princess Dina!" Her eyes widened. "The wood is almost ready."

"I see that," she replied, mouth pursed.

"Anne was just telling me where I could find you," Olyver turned to Dina. "I hear you've become quite accomplished with the psaltery."

She beamed up at him. "Oh yes, father had an instructor come in to show me. I will play for you at dinner, Sir Olyver. In fact, why don't we go now? I believe my father wanted to speak to you about something important."

He nodded, glancing at Anne. "Of course. Now is fine." He walked toward Dina and Anne was surprised to see the princess wrap her arm around Olyver's. She glared back at Anne before turning a sweet smile up to her favorite knight and then the two were off, walking back toward the castle. Anne gathered up the wood and brought it in through the servant's entrance, piling it next to the door. After a few trips, she finally had it all in and leaned back against the wall to take a breather.

Elizabeth stepped in with a frown. "The king and Knight Olyver are speaking in the dining hall and he asked that you bring them some mead." She shook her head. "Been working here since I was a child and he still don't trust me."

Sighing, Anne took the full jug from Elizabeth and made her way into the hall, glancing at the two people sitting at the table. She placed a cup in front of each of them and filled it. "Thank you, dear Annie," the king praised, smiling up at her. "Has my sweet Dina told you her news? She wishes to marry Sir Olyver!"

Olyver cleared his throat. "I feel that it would be best if I declined, sir," he informed the king

The king's once cheerful attitude diminished. "But why, Olyver? You are my most trusted knight! There is nobody better for my daughter!"

"Being a knight would have me spending far too much time away from her and I can tell that she is most... delicate. She deserves a lot of attention. I don't feel that I'm the right man for her needs." He cleared his throat, looking over to Anne, who avoided his gaze, standing next to the king silently.

"Well, she'd simply have to grow used to it. I'm sure that you two could work it out." The king lifted his cup and drank generously, licking his lips of it and sighing. "I love my daughter, but she grows bothersome. She needs a husband and a family and you are the only one she has expressed any interest in!" He shook his head. "No, I don't believe you have enough reason to decline. I ask that you take a few days to think it over. I offer you a great opportunity here. With my passing, you will be king, Olyver!" He nodded. "Yes, you will fit nicely in the family."

Olyver frowned. "A few days then."

Anne closed her eyes for only a moment and then opened them as her king nudged her side. "We will convince him yet, huh, Annie?"

She smiled shakily. "Of course. Dina will be most happy."

The king laughed happily.

Anne stepped back and turned toward the kitchens. She had duties to perform.

* * *

 

That night, the mead was plentiful and the food abundant. The king was already treating Olyver as if he'd agreed and was to be his son-in-law. Dina sat proudly at his side, smiling at Olyver in what she must have thought was seductive. Too bad she had no idea there was green beans stuck in her teeth.

Anne decided to leave early, begging off with a headache, and left through the servant's entrance to walk around the castle and toward her house. She could see the front steps and when a door closed loudly, she somehow knew it was him. She could feel his hurried footsteps coming down the steps and she silently pleaded for him to turn back. Perhaps after they were married, she could quit working for Dina. She had no idea what she would do, but she knew she couldn't stay working at the castle.

She felt his hand on her arm and was turned around abruptly to see him staring down at her, his expression stricken. "You still think I would say yes to her?"

"You have no choice." She tried to get out of his grip, but he held on. "Let me go, Olyver. Return to the festivities."

"I won't!" he exclaimed, shaking her slightly. "I won't return, I won't say yes, I won't marry her! Do you hear me?"

She felt tears building her eyes. "You must."

He drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her and cupping her neck to tip her head back. "Run away with me?" he asked, staring into her eyes searchingly.

"We _can't_. You are a knight of the king; running away would practically be treason." She shook her head. "They will find us and they will kill us. Is it not more intelligent to obey the law?"

"What does law matter when it wounds us like this? Is it not supposed to help us? To guide us in our lives? To keep us from harm? But has it?" She could feel his fingers stroking her neck, burying in her hair. He sighed, leaning forward to press his forehead to hers. "I ache to hold you, to love you, and yet I cannot. Why?" He drew back, scowling. "Because a princess believes her heart calls for me, when my own beats only for you? This is our chance, our only one. I will not stay here and wait for the day that I too am ordered. I will not marry her. I will not _love_ her..." He held a hand out for her. "Will you not run with me?"

She shook her head. It was wrong and yet right. She reached out to take his hand and the relief hit her like a brick wall. Her chest lightened. Together they ran toward the stables. Robert and Jonas were nowhere to be found and they hurried through to find his black stallion. He drew it out and helped her on top of it before climbing behind her. With a loud command, the horse jumped into action and they fled from the castle.

She could feel his hard chest pressed against her back and his arms around her to hold the reigns of the horse. They went directly for the forest, hoping to keep hidden should anybody suspect anything. She glanced at her hut on the outskirts, no fire burning inside. She hoped Amelia took care of her father. She could feel her heart racing and feared that any second they would be stopped. As if her thoughts had been answered, she heard the rumble of hooves behind them. She felt Olyver tighten his grip on the reigns and then the horse was running faster than anything she'd ever felt before. They raced through the trees, jumping logs and over creeks, climbing hills and hastening still.

Arrows rained down from above and Olyver was forced to pull on the reigns, to draw his horse back before they galloped right beneath them. He turned his horse to the left and they began racing in that direction, but there was no escape any longer. The knights circled them and forced them to a stop in a small knoll. She felt his hand at her stomach, holding her close to him. She put on a brave face; she wouldn't let them see her fear. Two knights approached and yanked them from the horse; she felt the hard ground collide with her sharply.

She looked up to see one hold Olyver up, kneeling in front of them, panting harshly and glaring at those around him.

"You dare break the law, knight?" one asked. "You dare disobey your lord?"

He didn't bow his head in shame, he lifted it in pride. "I dared and I would dare again." His eyes found hers and she noticed his jaw twitch when someone came up behind her, pulling her arms behind her back. As the others approached, they drew their swords.

Olyver looked over to them. "Would you kill your own, knights? Would you kill your leader and the woman he loves?" He looked up at one of the men to his side. "Would you not do the same for your wife?"

They slowed in their movements, unsure.

It was then that Alexander stepped out from the ranks, smirking darkly. "You are not our leader any longer, Olyver. You have broken the law and you shall pay!" He put his sword away and looked at the knight holding Olyver down. "Bring them back to the castle."

* * *

 

It was a quick ride, but her arms ached from being tied behind her. She sat in front of Olyver once more, on the same horse they rode in on, but this time it was being led by another knight, who wouldn't even look at them. She leaned back against Olyver's chest, her eyes closed. She wished it was all a nightmare and she would wake up to find it had never happened. She wished Dina did not want him too or perhaps that Olyver had wanted Dina back and so her heart would not have opened so easily for him. But she could not wish that she had never met him. His face pressed against the crook of her neck and even in the wake of all that had happened, he kissed her gently, as if to remind her that he had no regrets.

She could see the outline of the castle now and her stomach clenched. They were brought right up to the steps and a drunken king swaggered out, staring out blearily. "Whatever you decide, Alexander," he declared, glaring down at the couple that sat before him. He had nothing else to say, instead emptying his glass of mead and returning to the hall.

She felt whatever hopes she might still have leave her.

"Prepare for two hangings," Alexander exclaimed. "They will spend the night in the dungeons and at dawn, they will repent!"

She felt herself dragged from the horse once more and pushed in the direction of the stairs that led to the grimy dungeons. Instead of separating them like they usually did, they were relieved of their restraints and pushed into a cell together. The knight locked the door and frowned sadly down at them before leaving. The ground beneath them was cold and dirty; she'd seen many a thief dragged down here but she never entered the dungeons. They were all beheaded or hung the next day and the knowledge that she would die like all of them was a shock to the system.

Olyver was leaning against the wall and he brought her over until she was sitting in his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and letting his warmth surround her. She could feel his hand stroking her hair and listened to the steady beat of his heart. She decided it was all he'd seen in his life and done as a knight that kept him from being distraught. She was terrified and there was nothing in her past that stopped her from showing it. Still, she closed her eyes against the tears and willed her shaking away.

"Do you think God will accept us?" she wondered, soft against his neck.

"Of course." He turned his head down to look at her and wiped away the tear that escaped as she looked up at him. "We have not sinned against him. I don't believe we've sinned at all." His thumb rubbed at her cheek delicately. "True love, wouldn't he want that for us?"

She reached up, her fingers running over his chin. "Would you have run after me if you had known this would happen?"

He kissed her forehead and cradled her against his chest. "Yes," he told her simply.

She closed her eyes and breathed him in. He was just as warm and strong as ever. His arms held her so tightly she swore the whole of the knights above them couldn't tear her away. "Just so you know," she whispered. She could feel him lower his head to hear her better. "She's horrible on the psaltery."

He laughed and she found herself smiling despite all that had happened.

Anne fell asleep, safe and warm in his arms, and decided that she would not regret any of it. It was as it should be and if this was her destiny then she would accept it as such. At least she would die for something worthy; _love_.

* * *

 

It was early morning when the dungeon door clanged open. A pair of guards stared down at them, motioning for them to stand. She rose to her feet and felt Olyver stand beside her, his hand at her waist. Their wrists were tied and they were forced up the stairs and out to the courtyard. She could see the wooden posts waiting, two ropes hanging and ready. As they walked next to each other, Olyver rearranged his arms so he could touch her with his fingers. She turned toward him and caught his strong gaze. "I love you, Just Anne," he told her, ignoring the rest of the world.

She smiled, her eyes stinging. "And I love you, Just Olyver."

She was pushed forward to stand in front of the rope and felt it placed around her neck. She stared out at the shocked crowd as they covered their mouths and looked up at these two people they had known. She saw the children crying before their parents rushed them away from the scene. She saw the blacksmith Jonas shaking his head and Maid Martha crying against Clement's shoulder. She saw her cousin Louise trying to break away from Clement, but her husband held her back from interfering. No use in hanging three.

Alexander stepped forward, looking smug as he glanced from Olyver to her. "You stand guilty of treason," he informed them, "And shall be punished accordingly.

She glared at him before turning her gaze outward. She would show no fear.

Alexander stepped in front of Olyver and sneered. "Do you repent?"

"I do not."

He looked surprised and shook his head in disgust. "You would turn your back on your king even now?"

Olyver lifted his chin proudly. "I turn my back if only so not to turn my heart."

Alexander appeared not to have an answer, so he stopped toward Anne. "And you, girl? Do you repent? After all the heartache you have caused our dear princess?" He motioned out with his arm to the crowd. "Say it now, let us all hear, that you regret what you have done to her."

Anne swallowed tightly. "No."

She could hear them gasp. And she knew that were it anyone else, she would have. But she could not regret Olyver.

"You stand on the verge of death and still you dare spit at our leader's feet?" Alexander snarled at her, glaring darkly into her face.

"I love him," she stated simply, her voice shaking but her chin held high. "I will not lie when so close to standing at heaven's gates."

He shook his head, stepping back from them. "May God have mercy on your souls."

Anne turned to look at Olyver, trying to smile. "Run away with me?" she asked in a whisper, tears streaming down her face.

He nodded, his eyes staying on hers even as they fell, the ropes tightening at their throats.

And as their lives ended, they continued to stare, to love, to run, _together_.


	4. The Farmer and His Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was quiet and reserved and he liked it that way... until she walked into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pilgrim Era

**Part Four** :  _The Farmer and His Witch_

When Jonas woke up that early morning to feed the animals, he hadn't expected on seeing Chloris from down the road. She usually kept to the town, while he didn't bother with it unless necessary. He had his farm and so he was mostly able to sustain himself on what he had. He made a few trips to town each month and went to Sunday service, but he kept to himself mostly. He enjoyed the peace and quiet and the town was far too busy for his liking. They all had their suspicions and the witch trials over in Salem had them all acting peculiar. He was milking his only cow when Chloris appeared in his barn, leaning against the doorway.

"My father sent me to see if he might buy one of your chickens," she explained, walking further into the barn. "Is it easy?"

He looked up to her in confusion. She pointed down to his hands as they tugged on the udder to free the milk into the bucket beneath her. "It's not hard."

"May I try?"

He lifted a shoulder, standing from his stool. She took his place and reached out awkwardly. He covered her hands, surprised at how small and soft they were compared to his. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to pay attention and placed her fingers where they needed to go. He nodded approvingly as she got the hang of it. "I have a chicken Gabriel can have." He leaned against a post next to her, his arms crossed.

"Good. He will be happy," she murmured absently. "How long do you milk her for?"

"Until she's empty."

"Does it take long?"

"Depends."

"You don't talk much do you?" She continued in her work but turned her head to look up at him. He wondered, not for the first time, why her father hadn't married her off yet. She was certainly beautiful enough to catch a man's eye; with hair the most pure shade of corn and eyes as green as the grassiest pastures. She was small and slender, soft curves for hips.

"No," he replied simply.

She nodded. "You're not like the men I've known."

He took the bucket of oats and turned to feed his faithful horse. "And what are the men you've known like?"

"Well, they're just not like you," she said simply. "What's his name?"

He looked over to her, brows furrowed. "Who?"

"Your horse," she said with a chuckle.

He shook his head slowly. "He has no name."

She frowned. "And her?" She motioned her head toward the cow.

"None of them have names. They're just a means to and end."

"You feed them, care for them, use them; they should have identities." She nodded then. "I believe I will call her... _Bess_."

"Bess," he repeated, his mouth twisting with amusement.

"Yes, she quite reminds me of Bess down the road; the one whose hair is turning from black to white." She reached up and stroked the cow's side affectionately.

Jonas shook his head, patting his horse's head as it fed from his palm. He'd give him an apple later for a treat. "Would you like your chicken now?"

"Can't I finish?" She glanced down at the udder and the bucket as it filled.

He shrugged a shoulder.

Jonas paid a few boys from town to give him a hand when he needed it, but usually did all the farm work himself. He'd grown used to it over the years. His dad had taught him when he was young, but died when he was twelve from a chest infection. His mother hadn't lasted many years longer and now the farm was all his. Gabriel had often come to help him during the early years after his parent's deaths, but he was growing on in age now and had to take care of his own daughter, since his wife had passed giving birth.

While Chloris milked Betsy, Jonas fed the pigs and collected the eggs from the chickens. He had a fence to fix out in the field and wanted to get to before the sun rose too high. While he was bringing the eggs to the house, she stepped out from the barn, using the back of her arm to wipe her hair back from her face. The sun shone down on her brilliantly and he nearly stumbled as he found himself unable to look away. She had taken her white and black cap from her head and so her hair hung down her back in a wave of gold that danced in the breeze. One of her eyes was closed against the sun and she smiled over at him. The bucket of fresh milk hung in one of her hands as she walked over to him. "All done," she said, nodding.

He cleared his throat before taking the bucket from her and walked toward his house. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he found her following after him, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Did you know there was a post down on your fence?" she wondered.

He nodded. "I'll be fixing it today."

"Would you like some help?" Her eyes widened as she smiled, looking hopeful.

"You can hold the tools, I suppose," he allowed.

After dropping off the eggs and milk, he grabbed the tools from his shed and carried them out toward the broken post. She offered to hold them, but he knew they were far too heavy for her to carry during the walk.

"Why aren't you back in town with the other ladies your age?"

"I don't fit in with them." She shrugged, but raised her chin proudly. "I suppose neither of us are quite like the men and women around here."

He dropped his tools to the ground and started working on the fence. "What makes you different?"

"I have an opinion," she informed him.

"On what?" he asked, trying to work the stump out of the ground.

She laughed. "Everything." 

"And you're not supposed to?"

"My opinion doesn't matter. We all have our place and I seem to have wandered from mine."

He hummed. "What's wrong with a little exploration?"

She smiled at him as if he'd just given her the nicest gift she could ask for. "Exactly."

 

Chloris hung around, talking about whatever came to mind as he worked his hands raw on the post. She handed him tools, went back for water when he became parched, and wiped his brow of sweat as he worked. She made him laugh and he found his usually stoic expression melting away. She was incredibly refreshing. He hadn't liked talking before, but the sound of her voice was something to rival music.

When done with the fence, they returned to the farm and she helped him brush the horse. "Gregory," she called him. "Because his face reminds me of the man of the same name who goes to our church. You know the one."

He nodded, smiling slightly. When they got to the chickens, he warned her not to name them as she was bringing one home to be eaten and it would only make it uncomfortable. She took the one she thought was the oldest, stating that the others, "Still have time to live." She waved goodbye to him before walking off toward home and he shook his head. She was such an odd girl and yet he enjoyed her presence immensely.

* * *

 

Chloris returned the next day to see if he needed anymore help. For the next week, she was there helping him feed and brush the animals. When it came time to paint the barn, she eagerly offered her help and before long they were standing side by side, arms reaching high above as they painted as far as they could reach. She laughed, noticing the obvious difference in their height as his paintbrush strokes reached at least a foot higher than hers. She turned to him, smiling. "Next time, we should start from the top and work down. That is, if you have a ladder."

He nodded, chuckling to himself. His eyes widened in surprise when she reached out with her brush and painted a stripe along his cheek. He turned to see her double over in laughter. He dipped his brush in the bucket of paint before turning to her. With a shriek of laughter, she turned and ran off, dropping her brush in the grass. He chased after her, feeling like the child he hadn't been in many years. When he caught her, he wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her up against his chest, painting her cheek a deep red. She laughed, squirming in his arms. Wiping the paint from her face, she turned to swipe it over his once more.

She stood just a few feet away from him, breathing heavy and smiling as her laughter ebbed. She stared up at him with bright green eyes. "You are unusual, Jonas!"

He laughed deeply. "Only you bring it out in me, Chloris."

She grinned. "Then I have done the world a great service!" She waved her arm dramatically before brushing her hair back from her face.

He shook his head. She did amuse him. They walked back to the barn with her chattering on about the odd things she'd heard her neighbors talking about. It seemed the fear of witches was spreading and now the town was searching for any weird behavior from their own people.

"Crazy, all of them!" she declared, wrinkling her nose.

"I'm sure they think the same of you." He picked up the buckets of paint to put them away until next time.

"Yes, but they may not be wrong," she said with a laugh. She turned to him suddenly. "Are you hungry?"

He considered her request and found his stomach growling. "Yes."

"Then I will make us dinner. Steak and potatoes. Ooh and some of your delicious corn!" She smiled, hurrying up toward the house. "Why don't you go invite my father up and I'll get started?" she suggested, already moving to wash her hands at the pump.

He nodded before turning to walk towards town.

* * *

 

As he stood on Gabriel's porch, knocking on the door, it occurred to Jonas just how odd it might be to ask what he was. But he couldn't turn back now.

Gabriel opened the door with a grin. "Jonas, my friend! Have I thanked you yet for the chicken?" He patted his stomach. "Very filling."

Jonas nodded. "I'm glad."

He smiled, motioning for him to come in the house. "Come to ask that Chloris leave you be then?"

Jonas shook his head. "No. Her company is quite appreciated. She makes the farm a little less... quiet."

Gabriel laughed. "Yes, she's not one for holding her tongue." He sat down in a chair and leaned back. "Well then, what can I do for you?"

"Chloris asked me to invite you up for dinner. She's already started and we'd like you to join us," he told him, shifting on his feet awkwardly.

Gabriel lifted his gaze toward him. "You know, Jonas, I've known you since you were just a baby. Your parents were good, honest folk. And I must say, I've always wondered why it was you never settled down up there. You have the home and stability for a family, but I've never heard talk of you wanting a wife."

Jonas shrugged, clasping his arms behind his back. "I haven't had the time. The farm takes most of it and I haven't been inclined to change that."

Gabriel nodded, smiling slightly. "And what of Chloris?"

He swallowed tightly. "I'm not sure of what you mean."

"She talks about you, you know? She finds you fascinating." He shook his head. "She hasn't found anything interesting since she was a little girl and used to climb the trees as high as she could get." He laughed lightly. "And I've seen the way you look at her. You walk her home each night and you have that look in your eye like a man falling."

"Falling?" he asked, confused.

"Love, Jonas." Gabrielle nodded sagely. "You can't hide from it forever. Even secluded farmers need taking care of."

He cleared his throat, turning his eyes away. "Will you be joining us for dinner?" he asked, hoping to avoid the issue.

Gabrielle stared at him a moment before shaking his head. "No, I think I'll spend the eve in. Just be sure Chloris gets in safe and enjoy your dinner."

Jonas nodded before turning to leave. He felt Gabriel's words weigh heavy on his shoulders. He couldn't be in love with Chloris. She was... Beautiful and smart and outspoken. She made him laugh and smile and enjoy his day more than he had since he was just a boy, working with his father.

As he walked back up to the house, he stuck his hands in his pockets and frowned. It was unusual, what they were doing. If the town knew she was up at his farm, unattended, they would certainly have something to say. But he didn't want it to end. He liked having her help and getting up each morning, knowing she'd be there soon. He enjoyed how she named all the animals and helped him with each menial task. She never complained or avoided the hard work.

He could see his house in the near distance and the smoke coming from the chimney. There was something oddly intimate about returning home to find her there. As he stepped inside, he found her humming a soft tune and shucking the corn. Seeing he was alone, she wondered, "Did my father already eat?"

Taking a seat at the table, he answered, "He wanted to stay home."

She smiled easily. "Just the two of us then."

He nodded.

Jonas had a lot to think about. While he sat silently at the table, Chloris moved around the small kitchen, putting together their dinner effortlessly. And before he knew it, a plate was set in front of him with the perfect steak steaming before his eyes. His mouth watered. She sat down across from him and dug in without pause.

"I noticed you were almost out of fire wood," she told him.

He looked over his shoulder to where he kept the usually large pile and nodded. "I'll chop more after dinner."

She licked her lips as she lifted an ear of corn to her mouth. "I'll come."

He hummed.

Perhaps marriage wasn't entirely out of the question.

* * *

 

Later that night, Chloris followed Jonas to where he kept the logs. The sun was setting, but there was still enough light without having to get a lantern.

"Your father mentioned that you don't seem to care for the rest of the townspeople," he said as he placed a log in front of him and picked up his axe.

She sat on the fence close by, her leg crossed over the other knee. "Women like me are not appreciated in this time."

"Is that right?" He brought his axe down in a heavy swoop.

"Too outspoken. My father always told me to bite my tongue, but I suppose I never was one for listening." She shook her head, watching him from the corner of her eyes. "Do you think I talk too much, Jonas?"

He shrugged. "I think you like to talk and I like to listen."

She smiled. "Then we have found each other for a reason."

He stared at her a moment and felt his chest tighten inexplicably. He decided, despite any warnings that might come his way, he never wanted her to leave.

* * *

 

The next morning, Jonas found her brushing Gregory. It surprised him that she could wake up even before him as the sun hadn't yet risen. Gregory was her favorite, he noticed. She fed him a handful of oats as she brushed his mane and spoke quietly to him, things he could not hear from his position near the doorway.

"Bess needs milking," she informed him, somehow knowing he was there.

He smiled, nodding. "Have you already fed the chickens?"

"Not yet, no. I only arrived moments ago. Couldn't sleep." She turned toward him as he walked past toward Bess. "I believe I've had an idea that might not be quite as normal as some might think."

He smiled. "That does not surprise me."

She grinned, lifting a shoulder. "I would like to ride Gregory." Her expression became quite serious. "I don't believe my dress would be fitting, however, and so I borrowed a pair of my father's trousers."

His brows lifted. Perhaps he was surprised. "Is that so?"

"Yes. But I don't know how to ride and so I wondered if you would teach me." She licked her lips, eyes falling for a moment. "We could do it quite early, of course. So none of the townspeople see." She shook her head. "Or my father. I fear he already believes me quite odd."

He couldn't disagree with her. But then... he quite enjoyed her oddities.

"I will teach you," he agreed, knowing he shouldn't.

Her smile was enough to make him ignore the persistent voice of his conscience telling him he was getting far too deep.

* * *

 

Every day for a week Chloris showed up with a pair of her father's trousers hidden beneath her dress. Whenever she arrived, she'd turn to him, lift the bottom of her dress and show him the baggy pant legs, giggling as she did. She found it quite amusing. And each morning, as the sun slowly rose over the mountains, he'd help her up onto Gregory's back, hand her the reigns, and take her for a walk around the field. She looked so happy, high up on their horse. "It's like freedom," she told him, tipping her head back and letting the wind catch her hair. "The rest of the world does not exist!" She smiled down at him then. "Except you."

Jonas didn't know what to say to that. He tended to forget about the rest of the town on a regular basis. It had once been just him and his farm and what lived on it. But now it seemed it was him and her, enjoying their farm together. She was always there to help him keep it going, to tend to the animals or him, should he get hurt. He'd sliced his hand open the other day and she'd cleaned the cut and wrapped it in a cloth, putting in a few herbs she knew would keep it from infection so he could stop by the doctor's office in town. She made him dinner most nights and they talked comfortably at the small table. No longer were his days spent in silence and he enjoyed it more than he ever expected.

"What is your freedom, Jonas?" she wondered, arms outstretched in the air.

He furrowed his brow in thought. "I suppose you are." He lifted a shoulder. "I am more now than I ever was before I met you."

"Flatter me some more and I may just marry you!" she exclaimed with a light laugh.

He met her gaze. "An endless lifetime of freedom is nothing to fear."

Her smile slowly melted away, her eyes searching his. Her brows lifted as if she'd suddenly realized something and then she reached for him, her hand cupping his cheek. "Would you marry me, Farmer Jonas?"

His mouth ticked slightly at the side. "I believe it is I who is supposed to propose."

"Most unusual," she agreed, nodding. "But you have not given me an answer."

He nodded. "I will marry you, Chloris." He felt her hands at his shoulders, which was her silent way of telling him to help her down from the horse.

As she slipped toward the ground, her body slid against his. Her beautiful corn yellow hair danced in the breeze and her green eyes stared up at him. "I will make you very happy," she promised.

"You already do." He lifted his hand, his gloved palm fitting against her cheek perfectly.

She tipped her chin and pressed her lips against his, taking him off guard. Her nose brushed his, her lips soft and sweet against his own. He could feel a warmth fill him and his fingers buried in her hair, drawing her closer. One of his hands fell to the small of her back, palm fitting around her slender hip. He wasn't sure how long he'd been pretending that his feelings for her were only of friendship. Each day they grew, her presence becoming something he needed in his life. While he had long shrugged off the idea of having a wife, he knew now that it was her he was waiting for.

As their mouths parted, he could feel her panting against his lips. His eyes slowly opened, finding hers. She stared up with half-lidded green pools of dazed pleasure. He kissed her gently once more, eyes open, staring into hers. He felt her soften in his arms, a tiny moan of satisfaction escaping her throat. Her eyes fluttered closed and he watched her face, cheeks painted pink, and her brows lifting with each stroke of his tongue against hers. As he drew back once more, he told himself he must stop otherwise her virtue would not make it to their wedding day.

She licked her lips, eyes opening slowly as if she were drunk with their kiss. She sighed softly. "You make me happy too," she murmured, smiling.

He chuckled, leaning forward to press a short kiss to her forehead. He could feel the sun rising in the distance and knew that he had to go into town that day. Old Mr. Smithers needed a pig and Jonas always delivered it rather than make him walk all the way up to his farm.

Chloris nodded up at him knowingly. "I will ride Gregory just a little while longer and then return him to the barn," she assured.

He frowned. "The sun is rising. The townspeople will be passing by soon."

"Only a few more minutes," she promised, her eyes widening with her plea. "Just out to the apple tree and back."

He sighed, biting the inside of his cheek. He should say no but she so enjoyed riding Gregory. "Quick as you can."

She smiled before turning back to the horse. His hands found her hips and helped her up onto Gregory's back. She kissed her fingertips and then waved them to him. "Hurry and then we will give the good news to my father." With that, she tugged the reigns to the side and raced off toward the apple tree.

He smiled to himself, watching as she galloped away, her hair bouncing free. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, a smile just for him. He shook his head, turning and making his way over to the barn. He had a feeling that Gabriel would be very happy with their announcement and he wanted to give it to him as soon as possible. After tying a rope around one of the pig's necks (he was fairly certain it was Joseph), he walked down toward Smithers' cottage. At the crest of the hill, he could see Chloris riding back toward the barn on Gregory. Her arm raised, hand waving toward him. He waved back before turning and making his way into town.

* * *

 

Smithers made Jonas stay for a cup of tea in gratitude and so he politely accepted it and sat down for a quick drink. Joseph was tied up in the back and Jonas knew that Smithers would eventually have one of his sons come over to kill it for him and get it ready for various meals. He briefly wondered if perhaps he should've brought up Bartholomew instead as it was Chloris' least favorite since he always seemed to ignore her when she brought in food for them, snorting at her and stomping his hoof into the ground. But then thought that perhaps since he was so different from the others, he deserved a little more "time to enjoy life" as she always called it when he took another away.

Finally, he bid his goodbye to Mr. Smithers and made his way back up toward the farm. He passed by Gabriel's house, smiling slightly. Soon he would be living alone, but Jonas had a feeling that Gabriel would enjoy the quiet. He on the other hand, would probably never have quiet again. Odd that he rather liked the idea.

As he reached the gate to his farm, Jonas was surprised to see Gregory roaming free in the field, chewing some grass, while Chloris was nowhere to be seen. He whistled to draw the horse in and was even more disturbed to see the saddle and all of its attachments were still on Gregory. He looked around, searching for any sign of her, but found nothing. And then he turned toward the town, his chest beginning to thud with anxiety. He could see the smoke already billowing in the sky and his heart raced. He knew what they must have done. Paranoid, all of them. She wasn't what they considered normal and so they had to be rid of her.

Without a moment's pause, he climbed onto Gregory and took off toward the middle of town at a pace that his horse was not used to. And there, in the center of town, she stood tied to a post, screaming in agony as the flames surrounded her, licking at her burning flesh and ragged clothes.

"No," he breathed, shaking his head. His entire body shook with fear and anger. "No!" He jumped down from Gregory and ran forward, pushing the cheering townspeople out of the way.

"She be a witch, Jonas!" someone shouted to him.

He shook his head and kept running until finally he was at the edge of the burning fire pit and he jumped without hesitation, over the fire and the wood until he was standing right in front of her. She was gasping for air, her face covered in tears and smudged with soot from the smoke. She couldn't speak, she just sobbed in terror and pain. He could feel the heat at his feet, the fire catching his trousers, and he wrapped his arms around her burned body, burying his face in her neck. "We're free," he murmured against her. "We're free!"

And the fire consumed them both.

Chloris was no witch; she was just a woman who loved to talk, about anything and everything, and he was just a man who loved to listen. He clenched his teeth and let death take them. Perhaps in heaven, they could speak and listen freely.


	5. The Rich and the Poor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They knew their places in the black and white world but their hearts wanted grey to prevail.

**Part Five** : _The Wealthy and The Poor_

Olliver was in the town square on business, he had a meeting later with an important investor and so he was early, simply exploring the marketplace. It was as he was looking through the apples for a small snack that he saw her. She was bartering with a man over the price of fish and he found himself grinning at her tenacious attitude. She waved her arm around wildly, glaring at the man darkly, her lip curled. "That is ridiculous! I wouldn't give you _half_ of that. Your fish is barely edible and has but a day or so before it rots right here! I offer you a deal, good sir. And if you're sensible, you'll take it!"

"Foolish girl!" the man replied with a growl. "This fish is the best in the market and I will not ask for one penny less. You will pay or you will get no fish!"

"I will _not_ pay and I will find _better_ fish. The stench of its _rot_ begins already!" she shouted, clear for anyone nearby to hear.

The man looked about ready to strike her and Olliver found himself intervening. "Come, you can't expect her to pay _that_ much," he said, motioning to the fish at hand. "She comes only with a certain amount from her employer and you must admit, your fish reaches its expiry." He shook his head. "Would it not be a bargain for you to be rid of it soon?"

The man sneered, sighing. "Fine. But I'll only go down by half. No more than that."

The girl crossed her arms defiantly. "It's not _worth_ half."

Olliver hid his smile. She was very stubborn.

"Why don't you pay what you want and I will put in the difference?" he suggested.

She turned to him as if he'd just hit her. "I will _not_ accept your charity."

"It is not charity, but a way of ending this dispute before you begin brawling," he drawled, amused.

She frowned.

"Would not your employer be upset that you returned without their fish?" he asked quietly.

She bit her lip in a most distracting way and then handed over a handful of coins, glaring thinly at the man passing the fish. Olliver paid the difference and nodded farewell to the man. As he turned toward the young woman, he found she had disappeared into the crowd of people and shook his head. She was intriguing. The time told him his meeting approached and so he left, deciding he would return again the next day.

* * *

 

Upon the next morning, he found her in the market once more, this time bartering for rice. A little friendlier, however, she spoke with an older woman over an acceptable price for the both of them. He walked over, hands in his pockets and a curious expression on his face. "You paid more for that rice than you could have. She was willing to give you an even better deal, should you have pushed."

Blowing her hair from out of her face, she looked up at him with unimpressed green eyes. "I know that, thank you. But she has a family of three to support and her rice is always delicious. It was well worth what I paid." She turned forward once more. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Before he could draw her into any more conversation, she turned into the crowd and disappeared once more. He couldn't even spot her. He supposed it was her height that helped hide her; such a petite little thing.

With a small grin, he decided he would get her attention tomorrow.

* * *

 

Olliver returned each morning and, right on schedule, he found her at yet another booth, buying food, jewelry, or fabrics for her employer. Her black hair hung down to her slender shoulders in springy curls. She was usually found frowning as she dealt with the many market people who didn't enjoy gaining any less than what their price was. But when she won in the end, her smile was enough to combat even _their_ frowns. She truly was quite magnificent.

Each day was the same; he tried to draw her into a conversation only to have her dismiss him before she somehow managed to disappear from right by his side to the busy streets around him. Still, he rather enjoyed his morning routine.

Today it was tomatoes. She got the price she wanted and waved farewell to the woman behind the bushels of fruit and vegetables. With a bucket full of her ripe reward, she walked pleasantly through the cobblestone streets, looking down at the jewelry with mild interest and smiling at the children as they rushed past her, laughing gleefully.

Olliver sidled up next to her, arms clasped behind his back. "Good morning," he greeted.

She sighed. "You again," she replied distastefully.

So pleasant, he thought ruefully. "Yes. I fear I won't be leaving until you at least give me a name."

"Olliver," she replied.

"I meant _your_ name."

"You didn't specify such." She turned toward him with lifted brows and a challenging expression. "Well? I suppose this is when you leave then."

He laughed. "Must you be so difficult?"

"It's in my nature. Your word is your honor, is it not?"

He nodded. "Yes. And since you've foiled me, once again, I will take my leave."

"Good," she said simply, turning on her heel.

He watched her go, a sway to her hips. She turned her head and frowned at him. "Cad," she called out.

He chuckled. "More a man of good taste."

She pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes before turning and leaving once more.

* * *

 

The following day it was potatoes. He said nothing as he stood next to her, watching as she tried to barter with the potato farmer. She was obviously quite distracted by his presence as she kept glancing at him peculiarly and shaking her head, trying to get a better bargain only to find the man would not change his mind on the price. She sighed, rubbing at her brows in irritation.

"Must you be here?" she asked him.

Olliver nodded.

With a scowl, she turned back around. "Fine. I'll take them. But know this, Clyde, you won't be getting any more of those delicious apple pies I've been making."

The man looked wounded. "Oh but Cece!" he whined.

She shook her head, frowning as she reached for her money.

"Fine, fine, you win!" Clyde admitted.

She smiled proudly and paid him out, taking her potatoes and turning away. "I'll bring you by your pie next Sunday," she assured.

Clyde beamed.

Olliver followed the woman he now knew to be Cece away from the marketplace while she roamed along, looking through the fabrics absently. "Do you have nothing better to do?" she wondered.

He lifted a shoulder.

Her work-worn hands slid along the smooth fabrics and her eyes softened. Then she noticed him watching and she cleared her throat. "I'm very busy, sir. So if you wouldn't mind, I'd quite like to be left alone."

He smiled. "Polite? Wasn't sure you knew how to be," he teased.

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Yes, well..." She turned away from the fabrics and began walking again, but he noticed her hand strayed to glide along the tops, feeling their soft texture as she went. "Is there a reason you've been returning to the marketplace every morning? I haven't seen you purchase anything so far."

"I simply enjoy your presence," he replied airily.

She snorted indelicately. "As you've said before, I haven't exactly been polite. So _why_ would you enjoy my presence in the least?"

He turned toward her. "Perhaps it's your candor."

"And perhaps you're looking in the wrong place for somebody to amuse you. I am not of your rank, sir," she warned, shaking her head as she walked through the market. "I am but a servant girl. I wear rags and I have very little schooling."

He frowned. "Very little schooling, you say, but you charm me more than anyone I've ever met."

"You flatter me for no reason," she said with a sigh, but he noticed the flush of her brown cheeks. "I must return to work and you best move along."

"I best?" he repeated, smiling. "Is that an order?"

"Of- Of course not," she sputtered, eyes widening. "You are involving yourself with the wrong woman. I am not of your standard."

"As you keep reminding me, and yet here I am, still just as mesmerized by your wit and your eyes."

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth hanging up.

"I had no idea you could be _speechless_ either."

That woke her from her stupor and she glared at him darkly. "If you are looking for someone to fill your lust, I am _not_ that woman. Find a corner," she told him before turning on her heel and walking over briskly.

He shook his head. He'd get her yet.

* * *

 

The next morning it was apples. Cece ate one while walking around with a bushel of the others under her arm. Once again she paused near the fabrics, gazing at them wantingly.

"Which one is your favorite?" he asked her.

She didn't even flinch with his sudden appearance. "The green one," she told him, lifting her gaze to his. "It's my favorite color."

He smiled. "Mine, too."

She stroked the dark green silk with her forefinger a moment before drawing her hand away, clearing her throat, and pasting on an impassive expression. "Well, have you checked the corners then and come to tell me you won't be harassing me any longer?"

He laughed richly. "Unfortunately, for you at least, I have not." He tipped his head to the side. "I'm afraid I'll be around for a while longer."

She sighed. "For what purpose?"

"Seeing you smile."

"I assure you, you do not make me smile," she replied curtly, turning away.

"Give me time and I'm sure I can change that."

She shook her head. "You search for something where you should not be searching."

"And why is that?"

"We come from very different worlds, sir." She rearranged the bushel of apples at her hip. "And they should never collide."

"What if they were to?" His brows furrowed. "Collide, that is."

"The world would not allow it." She looked around at the people walking through the marketplace. "We focus too much on rank, color, and stature in this world. All so we can appear superior to each other." She laughed, amused at the unusual ways of the world. "And when one of us appears different, they're prosecuted for us. Hung, stoned, banished." She lifted a shoulder. "The world is black and white and those of us in the grey are only hoping nobody will notice we're different so that we might make it through one more day." She lifted her eyes toward him. "Please don't reveal me to them. I wish only to work and survive and your being here only complicates that."

"And what if I'm in the grey too?"

"Then you will play your part as I play mine and our worlds will stay separated, just as they should." She shook her head, turning her sad green eyes up toward him. "Trust me, you'd grow weary of me in time." She smiled. "I'm too curious for my own good. If the world would allow it, I'd be a reporter I bet."

He chuckled. "Really?"

She nodded, motioning her head toward a man standing stiffly next to a woman who kept smelling the tomatoes before she picked which she'd like to buy. "He owns the mill and pays his employees a good deal less than he should. He tells them that he pays them more than any other mill worker in the area. But I was in the town over last week and I know for a fact that both it and the one a days ride to the north both pay almost double what he does."

She shook her head before motioning to a woman walking daintily through the market, her nose high in the air, a haughty expression on her face. "She's been married thirteen years, has two daughters, is sleeping with the blacksmith and only one of her daughters is actually her husband's." She frowned. "And she doesn't yet know that her husband has filed for bankruptcy, is in love with the baker's widowed daughter, and knows his wife has been cheating on him."

Olliver turned to her with a wide, surprised expression. "And how did you come by this knowledge?"

She lifted a shoulder. "I told you. I'm too curious for my own good." She cocked a brow at him. "You and I... We're very different. I've been working since I could walk and I don't belong in your world. I don't know what you're looking for, but trust me, you won't find it in me." She backed up, eyes set on his before finally turning around and walking over. She lifted an arm back, her hand still holding a half eaten apple and waved goodbye to him.

He watched her go, sighing under his breath. "I think I already have."

* * *

 

Olliver left her alone for a week, thinking over what she had said. She was right; they weren't from the same world. His family was wealthy; his parents the most revered in the city. He owned his own business and it was flourishing greatly. His mother wanted him to marry and have children; she had a list a mile long of women she thought would best suit him. He'd seen them, met them; they were all high society girls that said the right thing at the right time. They laughed when they were meant to and were beyond polite. They were pretty and petite and wore the most expensive of gowns. They carried parasols and wore bonnets; they were fashioned with beautiful jewelry and their slim hands were always covered in satin gloves. They were gentlewomen and so accepted by his mother whereas Cece would never be.

But as the eighth day dawned, he realized that while she spoke of how their worlds should not collide, she hadn't said she didn't want them to. He understood that the world did not think they should be together, but perhaps he had grown on her anyway. Filled with hope, he left his house in a hurry and practically jogged toward the marketplace, his eyes searching everywhere for her. He found her at the fabrics and he grinned. He stood behind her, watching as she ran her fingers over the green silk once more. "It's one of the least expensive ones, you know."

She turned slowly. "You again," she said, except this time it wasn't filled irritation.

"Me again." He reached past her and brought the silk out from the pile. He rubbed it between his forefinger and his thumb for a moment before he caressed her cheek with it, slow and gentle. She didn't move away from him, instead leaning more into the soft texture against her cheek. Up close, she was even more beautiful. With long lashes framing her glittering green eyes and pink lips that were plump and waiting to be kissed thoroughly. Her dark hair was tied back in a braid; he nearly laughed at himself when he thought that even her ears were beautiful. So smitten was he. She had a long, slender neck that met her shoulders and fanned out across her chest, her skin brown, kissed by genetics and the sun alike. Her dress was worn and a faded grey that did her no justice.

"Most women would've loved the expensive silk," he murmured. "Not for its texture but its cost."

She lifted her eyes toward him. "I'm not like most women."

He shook his head agreeably. The silk slid from her cheek to her mouth, gliding along her lips. He could faintly feel them beneath his fingertips and it only aroused him further. He wanted to kiss her, right there in front of all the market. He didn't care what the world thought as theirs collided. He just wanted to feel her lips against his.

His fingers reached out past the edge of the fabric to caress her soft cheek. Everything but her ceased to exist. He just kept staring at her, ignoring the stinging of his eyes as they pleaded for him to blink. He feared she would disappear if he did. He ran the silk down her chin and along the curve of her neck. Her eyes fluttered and she swallowed, but her gaze kept locked with his. The silk wandered over her shoulder and then up the side of her neck until it traced her ear-- her beautiful, perfect ear-- and then returned to her cheek. His thumb reached past it to run the length of her nose before falling to her mouth.

"I don't want to play my part," he told her. "I'd rather know you."

She kissed the pad of his thumb and he felt acceptance for the first time in his life. "You're treading in dangerous territory."

"I like a little danger." He smiled. "Meet me tonight, just after sunset, in the field outside of town."

She quirked a brow.

"Completely innocent, I assure you."

She snorted. "Somehow I doubt it." She drew back from his hand and stood to the side. "But I'll be there." She turned and walked away, glancing over her shoulder to wink at him.

He grinned before turning back toward the stall that held the fabrics. He pulled out his money clip and paid for the green silk before rolling it up and taking it home with him. He smiled the rest of the day; unable to stop himself.

* * *

 

Later that night, Olliver stood in the middle of a field, staring up at the sky with his hands in his pockets. He watched the glow of the sun disappear behind the mountains and found his heart beating rapidly. A basket beside him on top of a thick wool blanket. He heard the crunch of the grass behind him and felt the tension in his shoulders slowly dissipate. She had come.

He turned slowly, his mouth lifting at the sides as he noticed the pale green dress she was wearing. It wasn't silk, nor was it anything any of the women his mother had dubbed "good enough" would wear, but it looked beautiful on her. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she approached and she tipped her head back to see him. She was quite short compared to his height.

"So, what innocent activity do you have planned for us?" she wondered.

He smiled. "Have you eaten?"

She shook her head, mouth pursing. "I should be back eating now, actually."

"Good." He motioned to the basket at their feet. "Picnic?"

She chuckled, nodding.

He spread out the blanket in the field and they sat down. He drew out the plates, putting a sandwich on hers and then pulling out the salad he'd had his cook make. He remembered how Andrew had looked at him unusually. He often ate dinner alone and stuffed away in his office, unless his parents had asked for him to eat with them. He always hated hearing his mother's spiels about marriage and children and whichever "lovely" women she'd met that week. And then his father always had business to talk about and nothing else. Thus, dinner was often spent at home, alone, and he'd grown used to it.

Olliver poured a couple glasses of red wine for each of them and passed her a buttered bun.

"I think this might be the first time I've eaten with anybody besides Ursula the cook since I was seven," she told him.

"That young?"

She lifted her eyes to him, mouth pursing. "My mother died young and I didn't know my dad. My mother and Ursula were friends, so I started working with her right after she was buried." She lifted a shoulder. "Been there since."

"And your employers?"

"They're nice enough." She shook her head. "I believe their daughter is one of many on a list your mother has of who she thinks would best suit you."

His eyes widened. "You know about that?"

She laughed. "Of course I do." She lifted a hand to push her curls behind her ear. "I'm employed by the Lemonts."

He nodded slowly. "Right. Bethany Lemont, right?"

"Beatrice," she corrected, nodding. "Her mother is close friends with yours and thinks you two would be a good fit."

"She's the one with the really high pitched voice, isn't she?" he asked, frowning.

Cece grinned. "Indeed."

"Well, I don't think that will work out," he decided, picking up his sandwich.

"No?" She stuck her fork into her salad and raised a large bite to her mouth. "Why ever not?" She licked her lips of the creamy dressing and her eyes sparkled as she stared at him.

"She's not grey enough," he told her, biting into his sandwich.

Cece laughed, her head tipped back. She had such a rich, warm laugh that came out loud and true. So many other women giggled behind hands. When she faced him again, she simply shook her head before taking another bite of her sandwich.

She didn't eat like the others either. She tried everything and she didn't act full when she wasn't. She nearly ate more than he did and he found her appetite and honesty appealing. She only had one glass of wine though; to keep her senses, he was sure. And then she laid back on the blanket and stared up at the sky, gazing at the stars. After packing away the empty dishes, he moved the basket and laid down with her.

"If the world is black and white and we are grey, which do the stars belong to?" he wondered.

She turned over onto her side, holding her head up with her hand.

He followed her to lay just a foot from her, head tipped, eyes staring into hers.

"Why me?"

He frowned. "Why not?"

She sighed. "There are plenty of other women in this city. Women who your parents would approve of; that the world would approve of."

"And they're all entirely too alike." With a sigh, he fell back until he was staring up at the stars once more. "They dress alike, talk alike, look alike. They're all clones of each other and it... It bores me to the marrow of my bones." He shook his head. "I want somebody real. I want to know that when I fall in love, when I marry, the person with me is a real person. They feel what I do, with all of themselves. But they see and think and do what they want, not what I want them to." He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Have you ever looked around and just thought... What am I doing here? Why am I here?" He opened his eyes once more and glared at the sky above. "I'm alone but I'm surrounded by all of these people. And then I looked at you and I felt... I felt like you were the only real person surrounded by so many fakes. And I wanted to join you."

She didn't reply and for a moment, he feared he might've said the wrong thing. But then her hand was sliding across his chest and curving up around his far cheek. She turned his head slowly and he stared into her eyes. She smiled at him; one of her big, real smiles. And he felt like he'd just conquered the world. And then she was leaning in, pressing her lips against his; soft and warm and strong. She was kissing him, finally. He felt all of the air leave him. His mouth parted and her tongue tangled with his. Her hair brushed over his cheeks, falling from its usual perch behind her ears. Her thumb stroked his cheek before her palm fell to curve around his neck, fingers buried in his hair. She slid on top of him, her curves fitting against him perfectly. His arms wrapped around her, hands falling down her back to her hips, holding them tightly.

Their noses bumped with each hungry kiss, their mouths meshed so tight he wasn't sure where she started and he ended. Her legs fell to either side of him, her dress stretching over his stomach, knees against his waist. His hands tightened in the fabric of her dress, wanting to pull her closer. She tasted so good, felt so warm and soft against him. He could feel her pressed close to his groin and he moaned as she shifted against him, rubbing his quickly hardening lower regions. One of his hands slid up her spine, tracing the curve of her body until it reached her neck. His fingers stroked her soothingly, burying in her hair to keep her mouth close.

Things were quickly getting out of hand, however, and he didn't want her to think he only wanted her for one night. He tipped his head back, parting their lips, and panted thickly. She kissed down his chin, burying her face against his neck and nipping at his skin, suckling it into his mouth and laving it with her tongue. He bit down on his lip, warring with the voice that told him to take her and the other that said to stop.

"I want..." He murmured. "I want..." God, did he ever.

She lifted her head, her chin falling against his. "What do you want, Olliver?"

He swallowed. "This to last."

She nodded slowly before lifting to sit atop him, hands sliding away from his hair and across his chest. "It will."

He sighed thankfully.

She climbed off of him, rolling back to her place next to him. He took deep breaths, trying to slow his racing heart and stop the burning reaction throughout his entire body. It seemed to be taking forever and knowing she was right there, wasn't helping. She seemed to understand as she moved back over and kissed his mouth, brief and quick. "I'll see you tomorrow, I'm sure," she said before rising from the blanket.

He nodded, smiling shakily at her.

"Thank you for dinner. And dessert was simply _inspired_." With a wink, she turned and walked off.

He grinned to himself.

* * *

 

For the next month, he found her each morning in the market just as he always had. They were discreet at first. Nodding or smiling hello, but keeping their distance until night. They met up in the same field each time, enjoying dinner or a bottle of wine while they laid on the blanket and gazed at the stars, talking about whatever came to mind. She might as well have been a reporter, as she had the inside scoop on just about everybody. Her wild stories and accusations always kept him laughing. She didn't hold back when they talked, she told him exactly what she was really thinking and how she felt.

He felt free with her. Free enough to chase her through the field, catching her in the long grass and swinging her around as she laughed loudly, echoing up toward the stars. To feed her strawberries or grapes, tracing her mouth with them and licking away the juices that left a trail over her lips. He told her of how dull his life felt on a regular basis and she didn't tell him that he had it so much better, she simply listened and told him that he could be himself with her and not the business man expected of him. He taught her how to dance, swinging her around as they stood barefoot in the cool field. She'd climb the trees and retrieve a few apples for them before hopping down, so secure in who she was and what she was doing. There was a pond down the way that they often let their feet dip in as they sat on the edge, talking in whispers that weren't needed but made them feel closer. He spent all of his days waiting for night to fall, just so he could return to his adventures of freedom with her. But then the night would grow late and she'd have to return to her duties at the Lemont house while he'd have to go back home.

After a couple weeks, he found their discreet manner in the market was plaguing them both. So instead they found ways to slip away from the crowds. They'd find alleys and he'd kiss her desperately up against the wall, breathing in the soft scent that was her. And she'd clutch the lapels of his jacket and kiss up and down his neck, her fingers stroking his chest. The heat between them was so strong he found his mind wandering to her constantly. His work was close to suffering as he spent so much time thinking they shouldn't have to hide and trying to find a way around it, ignoring what needed to be done. He was tired of his mother telling him of the women he should marry; he didn't want them.

He and Cece, whose full name was Cecelia of which she only allowed him to call her, hadn't been as hidden as they should have been, however. While she was buying strawberries the morning before, he plucked one from the basket and fed it to her, full in view of everybody. He'd forgotten to draw her away and she too hadn't seemed to remember. They spent the rest of the morning walking through the market, talking quietly. His hands kept brushing hers, fingers stroking the inside of her palm. He wanted so much to take it, but he hadn't. And at one moment, when she laughed, his hand had risen to stroke her cheek as it often did, falling to the curve of her neck tenderly. He knew how he felt, he knew what he wanted, but he also knew that nobody would approve.

When they noticed the whispering, they parted from each other. She went back to work and he returned to his house to finish writing in his ledger. He had much bookkeeping to catch up on. They agreed to meet in their usual place that night and he was happy to find the blanket he'd sent to the seamstress sitting in a package on his desk. It was made of the silk she loved and he planned to give it to her that night, so she would always have something to remind her of them. Thoughts of them running away together plagued his mind. They could leave the city, go to another, and start off fresh, together. His business was doing fine, he had the money to go, and nobody would ever know of her past, they couldn't look down on them for their decision to be together. He was riddled with indecision. They had a life in the small town and should they run away, would they truly be accepted elsewhere or would the world still find ways to disapprove?

* * *

 

That night, with a green silk blanket under his arm and a bottle of wine in his free hand, Olliver made his way over to the same field they met in each night. She was already there, her knees drawn up to her chest, her head tipped back and her eyes focused on the stars above. He sat down next to her, the wine left on the grass beside them. She leaned against him; her head fell to his shoulder and her eyes closed. He tilted his head to the side, resting his cheek against her springy hair.

"I got you something," he murmured.

She lifted her eyes to him in confusion and he handed her the soft bundle. He smiled as her thumbs stroked over the fabric as they often had before. She unfurled it and it spilled across her lap; it was filled thickly with down feathers and shone brightly from the stars glow against the silk. "It's beautiful," she murmured before shaking her head. "But I can't take it."

"Of course you can."

"You know I can't, Olliver. If the Lamont's don't wonder, Ursula will." She frowned. "They'll think I stole it."

"But you didn't. It's a gift and you'll enjoy it. You're allowed to have beautiful things." He took her hand and twining their fingers over the blanket. "You should have more of them."

She didn't reply, instead stroking the blanket across her knees and snuggling her head close against his shoulder. He tugged at the grass beneath him, simply enjoying the silence and her presence. When he felt her kiss his shoulder, he turned toward her. She rose up on her knees and spread the silk out on the grass in front of them. She crawled onto it and then motioned for him to join her. He slid along it to lie beside her and felt a wave of déjà vu as she leaned across, her hand drawing his face toward her and kissed him, deep and passionate. Her leg slid over his stomach before settling against his waist and curling down against the blanket. The heat of her body warmed his front, her soft, ample breasts pressing against his chest.

Her tongue tangled with his, their lips slanting together feverishly. He could feel her fingers in his hair and at his shoulder, nails digging in and raking down his neck before fanning over his shoulder. She broke away from his mouth, gasping for air, but pressed her face against his neck, mouth attaching to his Adam's apple. There was something in her touch that made him forget about everything against them. It was just him and her and the stars high above, their warm glow lighting up the field as if to show their approval.

When his mouth ventured lower, he felt his shirt parted from his chest. Her warm lips caressed the bare skin of his pecs, tongue peeking out to taste him. Her teeth grazed him as she fell lower, popping buttons and parting his shirt without preamble. His hands clutched at the back of her dress as she lavished his stomach with her mouth, tracing his abdomen with teeth and tongue. As she journeyed back upward, her hands slid beneath his shirt at his shoulders, pushing it and his suspenders down his arms. Despite the chill in the air, his skin felt hot against her touch.

His breathing felt shaky and stilted as she rocked her hips against him and smoothed her up the curve of his neck. His hands slid across the back of her dress, wrapping around the top just enough for his fingertips to caress the softness of her skin. She sat up abruptly and his hands fell low to her hips. She stared down at him a moment, not saying a word. And without explanation, she lifted her hands and drew her dress down until it revealed her top half, the green fabric pooling at her waist. His breath caught in his throat. He stared in appreciative awe. She was utterly gorgeous.

Her breasts were framed by the darkness and the moonlight, pebbled tips sitting in the center, waiting for his attention. His thumb stroked her bare hip, just above her forgotten dress. She made no movement to cover herself, simply staring down at him. The darkening of her cheeks told him she wasn't as confident as she seemed, however. He sat up slowly before ducking his head to press a kiss to her stomach. She leaned back, her body taut as a bow. His palms slid up her soft curves as his mouth traveled along her ribs to the valley of her breasts. He could feel her fingers thread in his hair, nails scraping his scalp sensually. His nose grazed the side of her breast and she shivered, letting out a small, content sigh.

Her skin was so soft; so warm beneath his lips. He kissed along the top of her breast before falling to capture her nipple between his teeth, laving it with his tongue. She cried out, her hips jerking against him. He groaned, suckling her soft breast further into his mouth. His arm curved around her back, holding her upright as he tenderly kissed andn nipped all around her firm breast before finally stroking her pink center with his tongue.

His fingers fanned out over her back, digging in to bring her closer, drawing her hips down against his as she rocked them against him slowly. He kissed up her chest, across her clavicles and to her neck. She tipped her head back, her hair falling and dancing in the breeze as she fell victim to his ministrations. He nuzzled her with his nose as he kissed higher, to the curve of her ear before he suckled her earlobe into his mouth. She smiled, biting down on her lip. She tipped her head closer to him as he pressed his mouth to her cheek, marking a tender path to her mouth. As he finally met her lips, she sighed into the kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders while her mouth slanted over his. He could feel her bare breasts against him; so intimate.

His hands fell down her back, slipping beneath the back of her fallen dress to hold the curves of her butt, pulling her tightly against his hardness as it ached for her. She moaned, nipping his tongue. She leaned into him until he fell back on the blanket, sprawled beneath her. She wiggled her hips and he took his cue to undress her of her clothing entirely. He pushed it down her hips and tugged it off as she lifted her legs to help. Her gloriously naked form straddled him once more and he felt himself strain not to simply reach out and plunge into her.

He rolled them over so she was beneath. She was panting, her eyes glazed and her lips swollen. He lay between her parted thighs, his trousers tight at his groin. He trailed his forefinger from her collar to her navel slowly; enjoying the way her skin reacted to his lightest touch. He spread his palm over her abdomen before sliding it up her leg, caressing her gently. He ran his knuckles down the inside of her thigh, his eyes moving to the nest of black curls. She was biting her lip, but making no movement to still his approaching hand. When his fingers finally met her slick, warm slit, he nearly lost what little restraint he had left. He stroked her curiously at first, not entirely knowledgeable about the female body. But as she jerked and writhed, he learned her quickly. His knuckle pressed against the pink nub that seemed to make her moan in the deepest way while his thumb stroked her folds. He slipped a finger inside of her, feeling her quiver deliciously around him. His finger thrust in and out, adding another as she rotated her hips, lifting them to meet his long digit.

"Olliver," she whimpered, her hands falling to her stomach, fingers curling against her as if to draw out the intense pleasure from inside of her.

He kissed her thighs as he fed her neediness with his eager fingers. His mouth roamed over her knee and down her calf while she grew tighter and wetter around him. A third finger was inserted while his thumb stroked all around, rubbing her clit in tandem with his strokes. Her chest heaved with each breath, her body lifting from her blanket as she shook and cried. He ran his free hand down her leg and spread it over her stomach. He could feel it tighten beneath his palm as she jerked and writhed before him. So beautiful as her eyes fluttered and her skin grew damp with sweat. Her hands rose higher, cupping her breasts, squeezing and stroking as she finally came, exploding into his palm in warm, wet gratitude. She nearly screamed his name, petering out in a sigh of pleasure. Her body slowly fell back to the earth, thighs still shaking and toes curling against the silk blanket.

He climbed upward, kissing her clenching stomach and suckling each of her breasts before finding her mouth to caress with his own. Her arms lifted lazily, wrapping around him, while her legs encircled his waist, drawing him closer. He could feel his hardness pressing through his thin pants and dampening against her heat. Her hands slid down his back, fingers curling to score his skin before they wrapped around the back of his trousers and tugged. She helped him undo them, pushing them down his hips until he could kick them away entirely. He could feel the cool air whisper over his skin but the warmth of her against him battled the cold.

"Have you ever lain with a man?" he asked, his lips so close to hers they brushed with each word.

"No," she murmured. "You're my first everything, I think."

"Everything," he repeated, kissing her chin.

"First kiss, first lover." She ran a hand over his hair. "I'd like to you be my last."

He nipped her bottom lip lightly. "I will be." He trailed his tongue over the seam of her lips. "And you'll be mine."

"And the world?"

"Can live their black and white lives." He shook his head before turning his head to smooth his cheek against hers. His mouth brushed her ear as he whispered, "We will live and love in the grey." And with that, he slipped forward, entering her deeply.

"Keep moving," she told him softly.

Olliver pulled out from her heat while burying his face against her neck, kissing her skin as he fell to enter her once more. She was so hot and tight and incredible around him. He'd never felt anything quite like it. He wanted to stay inside her and never leave. But the intense feeling of every movement, of feeling her quiver around him, was too tempting. He tried to go slow, to give her time to adjust. He kissed and caressed her breasts with his mouth and hands, suckling her brown, pebbled nipples into his mouth, circling them with his tongue and tugging on them with his teeth, stroke for stroke.

Her thighs tightened at his waist, heels digging into his back. She lifted and circled her hips to meet each thrust. Her breasts rose and fell with her heavy breathing. Her head fell back, the long column of her neck revealed to him. Her eyes fluttered and her teeth dug deep into her lip, nearly drawing blood as she cried out in pleasure. Her fingers clutched at his hair, his shoulders, dug into his back and scraped his skin deliciously.

He found one of her hands, their fingers twining, and held it tightly against the cool green silk beneath them. He kissed her chin and down her neck, nipping at her collar bones and down her chest. He could feel her breasts brushing against his own with each movement. "Deeper, more," she murmured.

He followed her direction, his eyes falling shut as he felt even more of her envelop him.

"God, Cecelia," he panted, pressing his forehead against her shoulder.

"Olliver," she moaned, clenching around him.

His back tensed and flexed beneath, his entire body taut with excitement. He buried his other hand in her hair, bringing her mouth toward his. As she tilted her head back, they met in a deep kiss. He could see the stars high above, twinkling in her eyes, and knew then the answer to his question from nearly a month before. The stars were theirs alone. As he learned the truth, he felt his body hit an epic height of euphoria. Fragments of light bombarded his eyes while an incredible feeling of completion filled him from head to toe. Such pleasure had never been felt to this caliber. He could hear her guttural cries of ecstasy as she scraped her fingers down his back and squeezed his hand. Her hips lifted to press against his, legs clutching at his waist.

He murmured her name into her mouth, over and over, as she kissed him.

Just as quickly as it hit him, exhaustion fell upon his shoulders. His entire body seemed to melt down on top of her, covering her small frame entirely. His head fell back to her shoulder as he panted harshly, eyes closed. Her hand ran up and down his back soothingly while he tried to regain any semblance of strength. He was finally able to roll over and took her with him. She sprawled out over his chest, her ear falling to his heart. He pulled the blanket up from the ground and wrapped it around her. He could feel her lips lazily kissing his chest, nose nuzzling him gently.

"I like it when our world's collide."

She laughed, lifting her head, chin falling to his chest. "Cad," she said fondly.

"Just a man of good taste," he replied, reaching out to brush her hair back and behind her ear.

They laid there for awhile longer, her dozing against him while he stared up at the stars. His hands massaged her back from her waist to her shoulders, stroking her to sleep. He could feel her hands running up and down his sides until she finally succumbed to exhaustion. When dawn approached, he knew it was time to wake her and so lifted until he was sitting with her in his lap. Her eyes opened slowly, tiredly, and a soft smile appeared. She ran her fingers through his hair, stroking the back of his neck and down his shoulders. "The world wants us to return to our roles, doesn't it?"

He nodded, frowning. "Unfortunately." He leaned forward to press a kiss against her mouth, slow and tender. "We will find a way. I promise."

She sighed, turning her head to press it against his neck. "And if we don't?"

He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around her. "We will," he said. "We will."

They dressed shortly thereafter and he made her take her green blanket with her, reminding her it was hers and so nobody should be able to take it from her. With a lingering kiss, she stroked the side of his face before she turned and made her way back toward the Lemont house. He watched her go; something dark stirring in the pit of his stomach. His jaw twitched. He wondered for a moment if perhaps he should chase after her; bring her back to his house. They could gather their clothes and leave as quickly as possible. Forget the rest of the world; all that mattered was them. But as he turned to her, wanting to call out, he found she was too far now. Tomorrow, then, he decided. They would leave tomorrow.

* * *

 

The next morning he woke to find the same fear sat heavy in the pit of his stomach. He dressed quickly and ignored his butler as he asked what he'd like for breakfast. He beat a hasty walk toward the marketplace, his heart pounding. Something was wrong. As he entered the usual area filled with vendors, there was a quiet that had never been there before. The center was completely empty, people standing an odd distance from it, staring down as if in shock. He pushed people out of the way, his throat burning and his heart clenching.

Finally, he reached the inside of the circle and came to a sudden stop; all of the air leaving him in a rush. He stood in the street, staring down with dark eyes. He'd found his brightest star of all, but she was no longer who he'd longed to talk to and hold for all the days God gave him. He had hoped that the city had not known, despite the view they had of their intimate morning the day before. They should have been more careful, he supposed, but then decided that if anything, they should have enjoyed it for all that it was, rather than hid it. They shouldn't have had to bend to the rules of a society too crooked to know what was truly good.

He felt his entirety revolt against the sight of her. She was no longer the beautiful woman he had long ago fallen in love with. She would not smile nor laugh nor frown at him again. No truth would leave her lips; no kiss would meet his own. Stained stones lay around her by the dozens, while she lay in a heap, so bloody and broken and not a movement to be seen. Gone, he knew. And her words from back in the beginning rang in his head, over and over again. _I am not of your rank. I am not of your standard._ He shook his head. But she was; she was worth more than anyone he'd ever known.

With a tense feeling of anger, he lifted his head and glared at the people standing in a somber circle, gawking at the poor dead girl. He pierced them with his hatred and his sorrow until he could no longer bear to look at them. He turned on his heel then and left back to his house, where he walked without pause or fear to his study and took a seat behind his desk. On a blank piece of paper, he wrote one short sentence. There was nothing more to be said. He laid his pen down and then reached across to his drawer, pulling out his revolver. And as a single, mournful tear fell from his eye for his beloved Cecelia, he closed his eyes, cocked the gun and ended his life. If he could not have her in this world of black and white, then he would join her in the grey; where they belonged.

A blood spattered note sat before him, penned out in an easy flourish; the last words of a broken man hoping the world learned better.

 _She was far more worthy than all of you combined_.

 


	6. The Outlaw and His Doc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't his way to get attached - he got his job done and he moved on, but she was damn captivating.

**Part Six:** _The Outlaw and His Doc_

Chance Kingston sat atop a horse, gazin' down at the dusty town before him, his four trusted friends fanned out, two on either side. This was just another town in a long line of ‘em they'd already gone through. Their job wasn't welcomed by the law folk, but then they were often the most corrupt ‘round these parts. Chance had been a runnin' outlaw for years and he ain't never got caught once. He'd been shot, stabbed, beat and left for dead, but he always got out. They went where they were needed, him and his four cohorts. To towns with corruption milkin' ‘em dry. Where the families went hungry and the mayors got rich, fillin' pockets of law folk so they don't get in trouble. When Chance and his band of do"good"ers were done with ‘em, the town got their money back and the mayors got justice in the way best served.

Now Chance wasn't a good guy by any means. He killed when he had to and he took a little from each town, just enough to sustain him and his until they reached the next one. He could be cold and calculatin' and he didn't give one lick about the folks that got in his way. If they weren't gonna stand up ‘emsevles, he'd stand up for ‘em. But if they got to messin' up his business, it was a bullet ‘tween the eyes for ‘em. He wasn't a man o' god like Vaughn Sterling was, his right hand man and smart as they come. And he ain't real nice like Austin Cash; givin' the ladies a real sweet time in each town they came to. Boy was a real heart breaker, but he left ‘em swoonin' and callin' after him like he done made the water clean for ‘em. And he was none too funny or friendly like Buck Avery naturally was. He didn't tell jokes or come up with any real stitch in your side stories. Sure as hell, he ain't as fatal as Dena Lowe was neither. Could catch a man's heart just by smilin' with her red painted lips and break it just as fast with her quick hand on a gun and a snarled insult that would kill ‘em on spot. He was the King of the West, the Robin Hood to all them poor folks, and he did his job where he went and didn't spend a second wishin' he hadn't done what he had.

"Where we at, boss?" Buck asked eagerly, tickin' his hat with his finger like he always did.

"Smalls Town," Chance told him, sighing. "Bartender back in Harlin told me we'd find a real gem here."

"That right?" Vaughn asked, eyes thinning, staring down in contemplation.

"Keep your eyes open, your wits about ya, and don't get your god dang asses caught. We rest up tonight, find out what's goin' on tomorrow," Chance ordered. "Suggest you hit up the whore house now rather than later, Austin Cash. I want this job done and over with, quick as we can. We got Billings none too far away and you know their sheriff is out to get us good."

"Ain't never forget," Buck sighed, nodding.

"Ain't no whore house. Them fine ladies," Austin Cash told him, frownin'. "We all need to survive. Little money for a little lovin' ain't a bad thing."

"That ain't what the bible say," Vaughn contradicted.

"No time for your bible talk," Chance told him, before a fight could break out in his group. "I'm hungry and tired and listenin' to you three is givin' me a headache."

"We know anythin' ‘bout these folk?" Dena asked.

"Just that the mayor is prolly worse than we ever saw. Sound familiar?" Chance wondered with a quirk of his brow.

"Runnin' thought, I'm thinkin'. Everywhere is worse than the last."

He nodded before clickin' his tongue and forcing his horse Arrow down the steep hill. She took it real easy, but he could tell she was gettin' tired from the ride. They trotted into town, eyes takin' in all the folks and shops, closed or open. Looked just like any other, he s'posed. He came to a stop in front of the tavern, hitched Arrow ‘round a post and let her drink up the water there for her. His boots clicked with each step as he walked up the stairs and pushed open the doors to the pub. Real annoyed brunette was behind the bar, wipin' it somethin' fierce as she glared at the patrons yellin' at each other across the room, lookin' ready to start a fight.

"Ma'am?" he asked as he met the bar.

"Ain't nobody call me that," she snapped at him. "Name's Mary-Louise and I don't like it any other way. You thinkin' to call me Mrs. Clarke, don't. Husband Kent's been off searchin' for work in the next town over, hasn't been back in weeks, left me this damn bar to talk care of and look at what these drunk folks keep doin' to it? Ain't nothin' but _trouble_!" she shouted, shakin' her head.

Chance frowned. "Well, Mary-Louise, me and my four friends here need rooms if you got ‘em."

She looked up, scanned them all closely, brows furrowed and eyes thinned. "You plannin' on payin' for them rooms?"

"When the week's out," he replied, nodding.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "How do I know you're trustworthy folk? People live in the town ain't much, can't be sure them out of it much better."

"You got my word we'll pay. Ain't never stiffed anybody before."

"You better. Husband ain't around, but I'm a sure shot with his gun. Better believe it." She smiled, lookin' a whole lot vicious. "Doc's my cousin too, so you won't have anybody to stitch you up when you bleedin' for your lies."

He smirked back. "Guess I better not get shot then."

She nodded before turning around and takin' five keys down from the wall. "They just been cleaned and if you're thinkin' of bringin' any of them ladies from next door over, you best get your sorry ass outta here. I don't allow no whores in my establishment." She looked at each of ‘em real close like. "Go on then. Dinner's served at eight, you be down here or you don't. I ain't bringin' it to ya."

"Yes ma-" He sighed. "Thank you Mary-Louise."

She nodded before turning around and hollering, "You break that god dang chair, Jimmy and I'll break you good!"

"Aww come on, Mary-Louise! Guy's stiffin' me on this game. He's playin' dirty, I'm tellin' ya!"

"You put that chair down right now!" she yelled, hands on her hips. "Jackson, if you're playin' dirty cards in here, you better believe I'm gonna find out and you're gonna be walkin' round with a bullet in your ass. And you know my cousin don't look kindly on people I shoot!"

Chance shook his head, smiling to himself as he climbed the stairs. He tossed the keys to each of his crew before opening the door to his room and walkin' in. He sighed, lookin' over to the rickety bed he'd seen a million times before in a million other rooms just like it. He stripped down to nothin' and climbed into bed, lettin' himself sleep off the last few rough days.

When he woke up again, night had fallen and he figured he missed dinner. He pulled on his pants and boots before goin' to the bathroom to shave up and wash his face some. He felt the last week's grime come off and sighed thankfully. Tuggin' on a clean shirt from his satchel, he made his way downstairs to find the previously near empty bar, filled with a couple dozen drunks. Mary-Louise seemed to handle herself just fine behind the bar and gave him a nod of recognition as he walked down. She motioned for him to meet her at the end of the bar and he followed direction. "Seein' as you just got in, figured I might save you a bowl. Just this once," she warned, handing him a lukewarm bowl of soup and a worn out spoon. He smiled thankfully at her and sat down to fill his stomach.

The noise in the background didn't bother him none. He'd heard louder before.

"Your blonde friend went on next door," she informed him with a frown as she wiped the counter. "The short one is playin' cards down there by the window. Black guy's up in his room and your lady friend gone disappeared some time ago."

He nodded. That was their usual routine.

She handed him a crusty bun that he dipped into his soup.

"I didn't make it," she admitted with a lift of her shoulders. "Got my cousin to. Ain't a lick good in the kitchen."

He chuckled at her honesty.

"Get my husband to do all the cooking. ‘magine I'd be starving these last couple weeks if it weren't for my cuz." She frowned. "Dang man is stubborn like a mule. Gone off to find us a better town to live in and hasn't come back. Probably searchin' so far he's gotten lost." She shook her head, trying to look irritated, but only managin' worry.

"'m sure he'll be back soon," Chance told her, shifting on his stool uncomfortably.

"Don't see why. Ain't nothin' to come back for."

"Good woman like you is hard to leave," he replied, nodding. "'least I reckon so. Ain't got a wife or girlfriend, so I may be bullshittin'."

She laughed, shakin' her head. "Reckon I know just the girl for ya, if you're interested."

He looked up at her, curious and suspicious. "AIn't a man of god, but I don't touch married women."

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Not me, you fool."

"Good. Might'a been a bit awkward if you were offerin' youself up." He shook his head, pushin' his empty bowl away from him. "Ain't lookin' to settle down. Too much of a wanderer for that."

She lifted a shoulder, nodding. "All right then. You change your mind, you let me know and I'll point you in the right direction."

He nodded appreciatively before standing up and stretching his arms above his head. She glanced down at the two pistols holstered at his hips, gleamin' in the light. He kept them well taken care of and always did. They were his survival and that was all there was to it. She didn't comment or tell him to keep ‘em in his room like a lot of other places had. She just nodded in understanding and turned back to her bar.

Hookin' his thumbs in his pants, he walked over and leaned against a wall, examinin' the folks around him, just tryin' to get a feel for the town. Most of ‘em were drunk and gambling. Ain't none of ‘em have much to gamble with though. He figured more than half of ‘em were gonna walk out completely broke while the others would only walk out with a tiny bit more than what they walked in with. He looked over to Buck's table to see him losing more than usual; he didn't often try to win given he knew the towns were broke to begin with. But he didn't lose so much money, he was walkin' away broke. Chance looked over to the man at his table, winning all the loot and thinned his eyes. He was cheatin'; he could always tell when someone was. It was in the movements of his eyes and hands. He nodded to Buck and then made a sign that only he would understand.

Buck nodded. "I dunno about you folks, but I figure a man who's winning every damn hand must be either beddin' Lady Luck or cheatin' us outta hard earned money."

"I'll gut ya if you're callin' me a god dang cheater!" the man shouted, slamming his hands down.

"Better gut me deep then," Buck replied dangerously as he stood up from his seat.

The cheater was at least a foot taller and loomed over Buck with a snarl. Chance shook his head; he knew the youngest in his crew better than most, and he knew the man wouldn't be backin' down even if he was up against a giant. He walked over, hand already on his gun. He shook his head at Buck, who was reachin' for his knife and turned toward the man cheatin' the table outta what little they had. He understood needing money, whole goddamn town needed it. But he didn't think it fair that he was takin' from those who already had little.

"My friend here wasn't callin' ya nothin'. He was just admirin' your skills with cards," Chance told him, drawing his attention away from Buck. "You always been so lucky, or is it them extra cards up your sleeves doin' all the winnin' tonight?"

He felt the blade puncture his shoulder and it didn't slow him none. His fist connected with hard flesh and bone and the man went flyin' across his own table, blood gushin' from his mouth where his teeth used to be. He was out cold and Chance didn't feel bad at all. Barely felt outta breath.

"You're bleedin' bad, boss," Buck told him, tryin' to hide his worry.

Mary-Louise appeared, scowling at him. She pressed a clean rag against his arm and shook her head. "Come on, you. My cousin can fix you up real quick ‘fore you stain my floors!" she told him, dragging him out of her bar and across the road to the dark office where the sign read closed and the door was locked tight. Mary-Louise threw her head back and shouted upward. "Open up, cuz. Got me a real thick headed bleeder and I ain't got no one watchin' my bar!"

Wasn't long before he could see a candle burning low in the room as the faint figure of a woman could be seen makin' her way to the door. Figured it must be the doc's wife and he waited impatiently as she unlocked and opened the door. "Come on in," she said sleepily. "Best get that shirt off and sit down on the table over there." She walked over to a few other candles and started lighting them up to make the room brighter.

"Stitch him up and send him back. He ain't drank none and I ain't kickin' him out," Mary-Louise said before turning around.

"Where's the doc?" he asked, looking around for the woman's husband as she started getting a needle and twine ready.

"I am the doctor," she replied with a small smile.

He snorted in disbelief. Any no female doctors in any part he'd been to.

"Ain't nobody sew up a hole like Olive," Mary-Loise told him seriously before she walked out the door, a bell jangling above.

"You know what you're doin'?" he asked her.

She stepped into the light and his eyes widened. Sure was pretty for a doctor. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, all blonde and soft lookin'. Green eyes stared up at him in amusement. She was short and slim, with curves he could see through her nightgown that would make any man water at the mouth. "Been doin' it awhile. Think I got it down pretty good."

He frowned, unable to find the words to reply.

She pulled the stained rag from his arm and threw it in the garbage. "This is gonna sting," she told him, pouring iodine on a cloth. "Gotta clean her out before I stitch her."

"Been stitched before. Don't need to tell me how it works," he replied.

She smiled. "Lousy mood, I see," she murmured, pressing the rag against him. He winced, but didn't move or shout in pain. "Usually happens when someone gets stabbed, I s'pose."

He scowled. "Guy was drunk and cheatin'. Better me than my friend."

"I ain't here to judge," she said, lifting a shoulder before tossin' the iodine rag away. She picked up the tools for stitching and got to work, eyes thinned seriously and mouth pinched as she worked. "You gonna tell me your name cowboy? Need it for my records."

"Ain't got a name." He stared at the wall while she sewed; no expression on his face. He was tryin' not to think of how her hands fell on him. How good she smelled and how pretty she looked. Ain't too often he had his head turned by some dame, but she was doin' it right easy and wasn't even tryin'.

She snorted indelicately. "One of them types, huh?"

"Them types?" he asked, wincing as the needle pressed through his flesh. Her thumb stroked his shoulder, trying to soothe him. He considered tellin' her he didn't need soothin', but he liked her touch too much.

"Outlaws," she replied with a shrug. "Don't put yer kind in my books anyway. Safer for you and me. Law ‘round here ain't straight and narrow so I don't see why they should be prosecutin' those that ain't any better."

"Well I ain't yer average outlaw, Ms..." He lifted a brow questioning. Shouldn't be hopin' she wasn't married, but he was.

"Call me Olive," she told him easily. "And yer like every outlaw I met if you're gonna tell me yer innocent."

He smiled, shaking his head. "I ain't innocent. Don't think I ever was. But I do what I gotta do and the law don't always like that."

"Yeah? And what is it gotta do, Mr. Outlaw?" she asked, voice teasing.

"Name's Chance Kingston, ma'am. And I take back from the crooked and reimburse the poor," he told her, tipping his head in greeting.

"You come to safe us then, Mr. Kingston?" she wondered, not at all impressed by his name or background.

"Reckon we'll do what we can. Don't figure it's savin', really, so much as bringin' a little justice where it's needed."

"An outlaw preaching justice," she murmured. "Don't hear that every day." He liked the way her cheeks dimpled with a smile.

"Reckon I'm not much like the usual, doc." He furrowed his brow. "That reminds me. Ain't never known a female doctor before. How is it you got the background to be doin' this anyway?"

"This town ain't average, but I guess you been to a lotta them." She shook her head, a tendril of hair escapin' to hang over her face. "I'm the doctor ‘cause I can stand the blood and stitch real good. The old one gone and got himself killed. Too outspoken, they reckoned. Didn't want to pay for no _breathin_ ' tax, I s'pose." She sighed. "Round here you can't do anythin' without payin' the mayor for your doings. Got his dirty hands in every store round here. Ain't nobody out of his reach."

"Just the mayor or he got the sheriff in his pocket?" Chance wondered.

"He's got anybody who shoot straight in his pocket. Storekeepers pay to keep him away and farmers lose their land from borrowin' too dang much. If they're doin' well, he ups the taxes. They doin' bad, he runs ‘em off the land. Owns the bank, owns the town, owns everybody it seems." She weaved the twine through his arm easily, without a squirm or an expression of disgust for her work, like he expected from a woman. "Ya got the mayor, who only got his rankin' when his daddy died. Odd way of things, I know. He's the big one, though. Head of everything that goes wrong ‘round here. Then ya got the sheriff and all his little lackeys, keep the town in their place."

She frowned. "You ever lookin' for the sheriff, he'll be in the joint next to Mary-Louise's. He likes them ladies a little too much. His lackeys are usually drunk and horsin' around. You hear a gunfight, they started it. But Rex, he's the mayor, you find him nowhere but in his nice lookin' house. Overlooks the whole town. Got that from his dead daddy too. He only comes out if the town starts actin' up, then he gives one of his speeches about how he wants everything to work real fine and that takes the good people that live there. And if there ain't more settlin' down, then... Well then he hangs one of them folks. Somebody everybody knows and everybody likes and he leaves them there in clear of everybody to see for the next few days. ‘Til it's stinkin' up the streets and needs to be taken down." She cut the twine from the needle and reached for a patch to put over the wound.

"You ever need to know the goings on ‘round here, I'm yer woman," she told him, tapin' down his patch, fingers smoothin' over him real nice like. She glanced up at him, cheeks flushin' as if she realized she was lingerin'. She moved on over to clean her hands off with a bowl of warm water she had waitin'm clearin' her throat and turnin' to look at him over her shoulder. "When ya laid up here, getting' bullets removed or needin' knife wounds stitched, ain't nothin' to do to get away from that pain, ‘cept tell me what's on yer mind. And they got a whole lot rattlin' ‘round up there." She smiled at him, wiping her hands off with a towel. "It was nice meeting ya, Mr. Outlaw. But I gotta get up early tomorrow. One thing I know for sure is that I ain't ever gonna be low on business." She nodded farewell before walkin' toward the doorway leadin' to the stairs. "You let yourself out and close that door up tight now," she called over her shoulder.

Standing up, he shook his head and grabbed up his shirt before makin' his way to the door. He did as she asked and couldn't help but look up at where her bedroom ought to be. He had a feelin' he'd be seein' her again real soon. And he wasn't dreadin' the idea neither. He nodded to Mary-Louise when he got back in her bar and then looked over to Buck to reassure him that he was still alive and kickin'. Made his way for the stairs and figured he'd start writin' down all the doc had told him and figure out how they were gonna turn it all around. He had a long night ahead of him but it felt good knowin' there was at least one person in town that supported him and what he was doin'.

Next morning he was awake to hear Mary-Louise callin' to them for breakfast. He closed up his writin' book and put it under his arm as he left his room to meet his crew downstairs. By the time he got to the bar, Buck was already half finished his porridge and chewin' on some toast with jelly. "Yer cousin make up this too?" he asked as he said down on a stool.

"I made the porridge and toasted her home made bread. Jelly's some of her preserves though - real tasty."

Buck nodded his head agreeably. "Porridge is all right boss, little thick goin' down."

"Quit your whinin' and eat yer food," Mary-Louise told him, scowlin'. She turned back to Chance and smiled. "So how'd you like the doc anyhow?"

"Nice woman," he replied, diggin' his spoon into the porridge. Already looked a little thick.

"Doc's a girl?" Buck asked with a laugh.

"Best damn doctor ‘round these parts too," Mary-Louise said, her expression challenging him to say different.

"Hey I didn't say nothing. Just surprised is all. She didn't faint at the blood none?"

Chance shook his head. "Real professional."

"Pretty too, huh?" Mary-Louise asked with a grin. "Told you I knew the right woman for ya."

Chance just about choked on his porridge, which wasn't really all that hard given it felt like a lump goin' down. "And I told you I ain't lookin' for a woman."

"How pretty?" Buck asked. "Reckon I might need me a wife."

"She ain't your type, kid," Mary-Louise told him, shakin' her head.

"How come she ain't married already?"

"Look around the town." Mary-Louise frowned. "Only real good man is already married to me. Rest are just broke and drunk all the dang time."

There was a ruckus and Chance looked to see Vaughn, Austin Cash, and Dena makin' their way down, arguin' all the way. When they took their places, they got all quiet and looked over to him, waitin' to find out if he had a plan yet.

"Heard you got into a tumble," Vaughn mentioned.

"Came in handy," Chance replied. "Got me some real good information from the doc over there."

"Who's a woman," Buck tossed in, nodding.

"Finally realize a woman can do better than any man then I see," Dena said, smirking.

"She told me the workings of the town and a little history. Said we ever need anymore, we can come see her. She's got the dirt on everybody and she don't mind tellin' it."

"She know who we are?" Austin Cash wondered.

Chance nodded. "Yeah and she ain't surprised or impressed none. Had enough outlaws come through that it ain't unusual." He sighed, turning back toward his meal. "We eat up what Mary-Louise here did a fine job of makin' and then we go see what else the doc can tell us. You ask the questions need askin' and we get down to work. You know how it goes."

After forcing down the porridge and enjoying some real nice toast, they crossed the dirt road to the doc's office and found the petite blonde sitting behind a desk, writing. She looked up when the bell rang announcin' their arrival. "Well it ain't Mr. Outlaw," she greeted with a smile. "Don't tell me you been stabbed again already."

"Wound free this morning," he said, his mouth twitching with a smile. "This here is Ms. Olive," he introduced to the others.

"You ain't lyin', she is pretty," Buck said, eyes widening.

"She can hear just fine too," Olive replied, comin' around her desk to stand in front of them.

"After seein' you, I reckon I am ready for settlin' down!" Buck boasted, grinning at her. "Name's Buck and I plan on makin' you Mrs. Avery."

"Sorry, kid, this woman ain't interested," she replied, tipping her head slightly.

"I ain't no kid. I'm eighteen if I'm a day," he grumbled.

"When'd you start off with him then?" she asked Buck, nodding toward Chance.

"Since I was about thirteen," he replied proudly, lifting his chin.

"Law breakin' starts early, I see," she replied before turning to look up at Chance once more. "You come lookin' for more tell on the town folk or are you plannin' on tryin' to marry me off to the other two gentleman you got with ya?"

"Well shit, if you ain't marryin' me, you ain't marryin' none of us bastards! Don't think my poor little hard could damn well take it," Buck told her, frowning.

"Quit yer cussin'," she told him, hands finding her hips.

Buck flushed, lookin' down in shame. "Sorry ma'am," he replied.

"I ain't never heard him apologize before," Austin Cash muttered to Vaughn, who nodded, half-smilin' in amusement.

"Boys round here don't mind you playin' doctor?" Dena asked, shoving the guys out of the way so she could get up close to Olive. "Reckon they'd be pinched some. Woman doin' what they figure is man's work."

"They don't got nobody else and I fix ‘em up right fine," she replied, shrugging. "They wanta go find some man, they can start ridin' the four days over to Billings. Ain't gonna hurt my feelings none."

Dena smiled; not her sarcastic, cruel grin, but an honest to god smile. "I like you."

"That there's a real fine compliment," Austin Cash said, coming up front. He took her hand and kissed it. "Name's Austin Cash and it's a real pleasure to meet ya."

Chance hid his scowl; didn't know where it came from anyway. He was used to women fallin' head over heels for his friend everywhere they went. Didn't know why this time bothered him anyway.

Olive tugged her hand away. "Well so far you ain't made me ‘preciate your being here none. Town's still corrupt and I've already patched one of ya up. How long's it gonna take before we're right again?"

Chance stared down at her. "Long as it takes."

"Then we better hurry up then, shouldn't we? Reckon the lawmen over in Billings ain't gonna be happy with you lot if they find out yer here."

"And just who would be tellin' ‘em that?"

"Your name get around and Rex is gonna want you outta here right quick. All he's gotta do is snap his fingers and he'll have the sheriff over there lettin' them know."

"Right, then we need to know just how many guns he's got on us his side," Vaughn said, stepping forward.

"He's got about seven. There are two others he only calls in when things get real messy. They got a farm a couple miles out and they don't feel nothin' wrong with shootin' an innocent kid. You'd do well to get your business done before Rex calls them in. Like I said last night, all seven are the sheriff's lackeys. They do what he says, when he says it. They're a dumb lot that drink too much and would shoot each other just as soon as one of us." She frowned, tucking her hands in her apron pockets. "Rest of the town won't get in the way. Too scared to stand up anymore. If they ain't takin' what Rex is sellin' then they're sneakin' off in the dead of night." She lifted a shoulder.

"Tell us about the taxes," Chance suggested.

"Started off with a rental charge. Rex figured he owned the land the town was built on, so he started charging a rental fee to all the store keeps. Which was doubled, ‘cause he owned the bank too. Anybody who done took a loan out had interest buildin' up that was more than the loan itself." She shook her head. "Then came the food charge. He figures since he owned the land that farmers were using, he could charge the townfolk for eating it." She scowled. "Then there was just the plain living here tax. Said it was going towards making the town better. As you see, there ain't nothing good to begin with." She sat down on the edge of her desk. "People ‘round here can't afford that and when they don't pay, they're beat, shot, stabbed, hung, killed, or..." She turned her eyes off. "Or they watch it done to someone they love."

"Rex is the mayor?" Dena asked.

Olive nodded.

"How do you afford to stay?" Vaughn wondered, shaking his head.

"My daddy was rich folk, gone and died on me though. Left me his house and his money. Been payin' off Rex's taxes for most of these folks as it is. Used to be his daddy that mayored this town and Lyle was crooked but mostly fair. Didn't run off folks or run their businesses into the ground like Rex is now. Didn't let families starve or kill babe's daddies just cause they looked at him wrong." She shook her head. "Compared to Rex, hell, Lyle was as good as they come."

Chance sighed, nodding. "All right you four get out there and see what there is. Keep an eye out for the sheriff's lackeys. Reckon you might'a already met the sheriff, Austin Cash. Loves them whore houses just like you."

They nodded to him before leaving the doc's shop.

"You sure you don't wanna be marryin' me, Ms. Olive?" Buck called out to her, grinning. "I got my own horse and everything."

She smiled at him, shaking her head. "Maybe in a few years. You come on back and ask me again."

He nodded, flicking his hat at her and walking off.

"You know he ain't gonna forget that. You're gonna have him back here, standin' at yer door, askin' for yer hand," Chance told her, frownin' some. Didn't know why it bothered him any.

She smiled, lifting a brow. "Maybe I'll say yes."

He shook his head. "Buck's a good boy but he ain't made for marryin' yet."

"Maybe in a few years he will be," she replied, eyes glittering with amusement. "How's that arm of yours?"

"Fine," he assured, nodding.

She nodded back, biting down on her lip, staring at him in contemplation. "You really think you're gonna clean this place up, don't you?"

"Cleaned up a whole lot of towns before this one. It's just what I do." He crossed his arms over his chest, staring back into her pretty green eyes.

She shook her head. "Why though? Why spend your life fixin' other peoples problems?"

He grinned. "You mean like you do? Fixin' up all them wounds that a bunch of dumb men gone and got all on their own, no help from you."

She frowned. "Well that's different." She shook her head, sighing. "Or maybe it ain't. I just know that the people I fix up are people I lived my whole life with. Known ‘em since I was just a little girl in pig tails. But you don't know them people in the towns you help, do you? You do it cause you just do."

He nodded. "Reckon justice needs to be served and nobody's willing to stand up and serve it." He frowned. "You take five people, put ‘em in a town where the majority are scared and just a handful or so are the ones terrorizing them. That five can make the scared stand up and take charge of their own lives, their own town. All they need is a push."

"And if some of ‘em get dead?"

"Sacrifices have to be made for freedom. It's a war out there, just on a smaller scale."

"Why you? Why not somebody else?" she wondered, shaking her head.

"Why are you the doctor?"

"I told you. I can stand the blood and stitch well," she said, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

"You coulda said no."

She licked her lips, eyes falling. "It was my cousin's husband who done got shot right after they killed the old doctor. He was just standin' up for his wife, didn't like how one of the sheriff's lackey's kept boastin' that if he wanted, he could get her into bed. That Rex would order it if he wanted. So Kent told him that nobody touched his wife and he done got shot for it." She sighed, looking down. "Ain't nobody there to help him and I just... I did what I had to do."

"Exactly," he replied, smiling slightly. "We do what we have to."

"But you don't _have_ to," she sighed. "That's what I'm sayin'."

"If I don't, maybe nobody will." He lifted a shoulder. "I like what I do. People get dead, people get hurt, but when I leave, town's better off that what it was."

She stared at him curiously, head turned to the side. "You are a curious man, Mr. Outlaw."

"You can call me Chance, you know," he told her, smiling. He liked what she called ‘him; more than he should, he reckoned.

"I'll call you what I like, I figure." She stood up and walked around to sit behind her desk. "I better get back to work and you better get back to your justice serving."

He tipped his head in recognition of her dismissal. "I'll be seein' ya, doc."

"Careful now. My future husband Buck might not like the attention yer givin' me," she called out as he walked to the door.

He laughed, shaking his head as he walked out into the dusty town in front of him.

He took a walk, eyes sharp for sheriffs and lackeys and then searched for where Rex's house might be. It was high on a hill, givin' him the perfect bird's eye view of the town. He could see a couple men standing nearby, guns in their hands as if guarding the place. He thinned his eyes thoughtfully. Way he figured it, Rex wasn't gonna live in the end of this war. And he didn't have no problem with that.

Later that night, they sat down for dinner at the bar once more. Chance was already worrying over what Mary-Louise might'a tried to cook. But a plate of roast beef and ‘taters was put down in front of him, with rivers of gravy all over. Smelled great, looked even better. His mouth watered and he dug in almost as quick as Buck did. He looked up to compliment Mary-Louise only to find Olive staring back at him. "She can't cook a lick and I figured since you're all plannin' on helpin' us, we should at least keep ya well fed."

He couldn't reply through his mouthful and so nodded. Didn't know why she made him nervous; always got butterflies in his stomach for no reason he could figure. She sure did smell pretty today though. And that smile o' hers always made him want to grin back, even if he was accustomed to frownin'.

She and Mary-Louise worked the bar together, pourin' drinks for patrons and talking to a few of them comfortably. When they were done eatin', Chance ordered Buck and Austin Cash to get the dishes done up. Vaughn went up to his room, nodding his thanks to the ladies, while Dena said she was going out to take another look around, wantin' to know what the scene was at night and how many of the lackey's were walkin' about. That left Chance sittin' alone with Olive while Mary-Louise was busy cleaning up tables.

"So how old were ya when you set out to start your town saving?" Olive asked him, leaning against the bar.

He shrugged, nursing a beer in front of him. "'Bout how old Buck is now, I'm guessin'."

"That young?' she asked, lifting a brow.

He shook his head. "Town I lived in was a lot like this one. My pops got shot tryin' to keep his farm and I stood up when nobody else was going to. Got myself good and shot, but the town rallied behind me." He nodded. "Decided it was worth the bullet and set out to see if I could help elsewhere." He lifted a brow. "Picked up a few friends on the way, had the same thinkin' as me. Been a group since and haven't stopped our work." He nodded, sipping his beer.

"You done a lot of good then," she said, holding her hand up with her hand.

"Done a lotta bad too." He shook his head, turning to look at her. "Killed a lotta folks for that freedom. Don't regret it, but I don't think many look so kindly on that."

"We do what we have to," she murmured.

He nodded, staring at her awhile. She had nice pale skin, real soft lookin'. Her hair was down, hanging in ringlets to her hips. She wasn't wearing her apron or doc's outfit now. Just a nice little green dress that made her look real fit. None too fancy, like what he expected from a girl of wealth. But it looked damn pretty on her all the same.

"Best keep them wanderin' eyes to yourself now, Mr. Outlaw. I reckon my future husband ain't look on that too kindly," she told him, teasing.

He smirked, eyes falling down to look into his beer. "You still thinkin' yer gonna marry him?"

"Could be I find he's a real catch in a few years."

"And what if you find someone else along the way? Few years is a long time." He turned his eyes back up toward her. There was a tightness in his chest that he ain't never really felt before. He'd liked woman, saw a few real nice lookin' ones too. But he'd never really been drawn to one before; never found himself wantin' to see her a little while longer, just to see them eyes of her sparkle or those lips curve in a smile. But Olive, she was... She was sweet and quick witted and too pretty for her own sake. The thoughts that went through his mind weren't fit for thinkin' about a woman who ain't his wife. And the idea that he should be wantin' to marry her was just damn crazy.

"Ain't much prospects here for a husband," she told him, eyes falling to look down at the bar a moment before returning to his. "Whole lotta men just lookin' for a poke that I ain't interested in givin'."

She was letting him know she wasn't the type Austin Cash always found next door and he found it refreshing, even if he wasn't he marrying type.

"Maybe when we clean this place up, you'll find a good man," he told her. No use in startin' something he knew he couldn't finish. He was leavin' when it was all over and he knew she wouldn't come with. She wasn't that type of woman; ain't nothin' like Dena and he appreciated that about her.

She nodded, smiling softly. "Reckon I might."

Mary-Louise appeared then, leaning against the bar and grinning at them. "You two done and fall in love yet? Figure I hit this one right on the head. You two would work nice with each other, I reckon."

"Keep to what you know, Mary-Louise," Olive told her with a grin. "Tending bar and fightin' with that husband of yours."

"That husband of mine ain't anywhere I can fight with," she replied, frowning.

"Reckon I'm closer than you think," a voice called from behind.

Both Chance and Mary-Louise turned abruptly to find a man standing there with a grin. He was broad shouldered and strongly built, like a farmer. His arms fell open to catch his wife as she jumped up to hug him tight. "Where in blazin' hell have you been Kent Clarke? I been bustin' my ass workin' this damn bar for you and you ain't written or nothin'! Just goin' for a few days, you say. Well it's been a couple weeks and you better have one god dang great excuse!" she exclaimed. Drawing back, she looked up at him furiously. "Well?"

He just smiled before kissing her breathless. Wasn't long before the two of ‘em were wandering off to the stairs to get reacquainted.

Olive sighed. "Guess I'm closin' up tonight," she muttered.

Chance snorted, lifting his beer to his mouth.

Later that night, after shooing out the last of the drunks, Olive walked around, wiping down tables while Chance swept up the broken bottles and turned the chairs up on top of the clean tables. Felt weird to be doin' something so normal when so many years of his life had been spent workin' on whatever town he was in. He didn't usually spend much time with the locals. Didn't get close to ‘em anyway. But he liked the doc and she seemed to like him too. When the night got late, they said their goodbyes and he watched her walk off across the road to her office, makin' sure nobody got to her before she was safely locked away.

"She gone and turned yer head, hasn't she?" Dena asked, surprising him from behind.

He looked over to her frowning. "Ain't nobody turned my head."

She smirked, lifting a brow. "Deny all you want, boss." She shook her head. "She's a pretty little thing. Not cut for our work, but definitely worth yer time."

"I ain't lookin' to bed her, Dena. That ain't my way."

She sighed. "Don't I know it," she muttered, walking over to the stairs. "Been frustrated too dang long, you're startin' to get mean."

He rolled his eyes before makin' his way to the stairs too. He needed a good long sleep.

They always kept their eyes on the town, learning its way before they did anything. Took a few days and so they laid low, spent their time at Mary-Louise's or over at the doc's office. Or more specifically, _he_ spent all of his time over at the doc's office. She was a fascinating woman. When she didn't have some folk comin' in with a deep cut from whatever, she sat with him and talked about everything that came to mind. She found his line of work interesting and liked to hear stories about the other towns. What he liked best was that she didn't get that look on her face whenever he admitted to having killed someone. She didn't look disgusted or think he was any less of a "hero" type because he had to kill. She didn't tell him he was goin' to hell or remind him of how sinful it was for him to take a life. She just listened to him talk, laughing when it was funny and smiling gently, soothingly, when it wasn't.

Four days they'd been in Smalls Town and he spent morning, afternoon, and night with her. Whenever he finished breakfast, which was unfortunately made by Mary-Louise, he'd go on over to the doc's and talk with her until lunch, which thankfully was made by Kent. Doc Olive always came with him, sitting down to enjoy whatever it was Kent cooked up. She got on real well with her cousin's husband and he found out quick that the two were best friend all through their childhood and it was through Olive that Kent met Mary-Louise. Chance found himself feeling a little too comfortable in the dusty town, getting' close to the folk and enjoying his time with Olive more than he was willing to admit.

When lunch was over, he'd go on back to her office with him. "We're discussing the town," he'd tell Vaughn whenever he was asked what it was he thought he was doing. "Gotta know it inside out, don't I?" And they did talk about Smalls Town and he learned what he had to. But he spent more time learning about her; her childhood and her life. Her momma ran off when she was young and her daddy died when she was eighteen. She sold her house for a good profit and added it to the wealth her pops left her. She lived outta the room above the doc's office and paid off whatever debts she could for those around her. She was a real giving person; had a kind heart that was being ripped to shreds by the life she lived. She knew Rex when she was younger and disliked him even then. He was a mean spirited boy and only grew up to be a cruel man.

Her favorite color was green and he found she had a dress in every shade, brought her eyes out somethin' fierce. She learned early how to shoot, but she was quicker with a blade. She didn't like weapons though, seeing as she patched up so many wounds from ‘em on a daily basis. She knew everything about everybody but she wasn't a gossip. She kept secrets real well and was a great listener. She believed in god, unlike him, but she felt a person had to make their own way. "He don't our lives for us, he just guides us. I live how I think God wants me to by doin' my best and being as good a person as I can. Reckon we all make mistakes, but if we face ‘em and we work hard not to make ‘em again, that's all that cane be expected."

She ain't never married and she said she'd never really loved any one man. Closest people in her life were Mary-Louise and Kent and though she'd been sad to know they wanted to get out of Smalls Town, she understood their need to go and supported ‘em. But she wasn't leavin', she said. She'd stay as long as she was breathin', just to keep helpin' who she could. He found he admired her more with each passing minute spent with her.

Come dinner time, they'd walk on over to Mary-Louise's and he'd go into the back and help Olive cook up a meal for everyone. He'd never done anything so intimate in his life as make a dinner with her. She'd take his hands and push ‘em right into the dough to knead it, her fingers falling in between his to help him. She got right up in front of him, her back to his chest, head just under his chin, and they made everything together. They worked in tandem, knowing each others next moves and following as they should. She smelled nice and sweet up close and felt warm against his body. He'd never smiled as much as when he was with her. Didn't feel so stiff and angry when she was around to make him laugh with one of her quick retorts or amusing stories.

Now that Kent was back, he and Mary-Louise went on to bed earlier and so the bar was left in Olive's care. When the night got on, Vaughn would play the organ, nice jaunty tunes to keep ‘em awake until it was time to kick out the drunk patrons. Somehow he got talked into dancing so him and Olive stood in the middle where the tables were moved out of place. He twirled her around, smiling and laughing as she hopped around and swayed to the tune, head bobbing happily. The patrons all stomped their feet to the beat and clapped their hands, whistling as they danced.

She smiled up at him, her hair swaying around her as she held one of his hands tight in hers, while the other sat on his shoulder. His found her waist, small and curvy beneath his hand. She didn't mind the watching eyes and all he could see was her. They danced for what felt like ever, laughing and enjoying the freedom it gave. The people in the bar weren't so angry when there was music. They hooted and hollered, all in fun. A few of ‘em stood up to dance as well, hookin' arms and jumping all over. Dena and Buck shared a real fast dance to a jaunty tune, the usually dangerous looking woman smiling genuinely and dancing happily.

It all came to a quick stop when the door was pushed open abruptly though. Chance looked over to see a man walking in, his red hair slicked back and a real expensive cane held in his hand. The diamond ring on his pinkie and the tailored suit he wore said it all. This was Rex.

The enjoyment in the room disappeared entirely and everybody took their seat. Vaughn stopped playing the organ and turned around, glancing at Chance and then over to Buck an' Dena, just to be ready. Olive separated from him some, but their hands hung between them, fingers twined. They stared at Rex, waiting for him to say something. "Evening, folks," he greeted, smiling a slick grin. "I see the festivities are runnin' high." He looked around at them all, eyes thinned. "Seems we have a few travelers in our midst." He settled his gaze on Olive and stepped closer to her. "Would ya like to introduce your new friend here, Ms. Olive?" He looked over to Chance, expression calculating. "I'm Mayor Rex Lufair and I regret I couldn't welcome you to Smalls Town earlier, but it seems my good friends didn't inform me of your arrival."

"This is Chance, Mayor Rex," Olive told him. "And a few friends of his from outta town. They're just passin' through. You know how it is." She smiled stiffly. "Little tourism ain't bad for business. More profit for our dear town."

Rex stared at her a moment, darkly. "I reckon you're right, Ms. Olive. As you often are." He nodded before turning back to Chance. "Don't hear you name too often, Mr...?"

"It's a common enough name," he replied, ignoring the inquiry.

"And where are you headed off to, if you don't mind my askin'?"

"Here or there," he replied, lifting a shoulder. "Whatever town comes our way."

"What towns have you been to recently?" he queried.

Chance knew his game. He was wonderin' if he was the Chance Kingston he'd heard about and so he was tryin' to find out right quick so he could get affairs in order. Sooner he found out, sooner he could get more men in to help. "We was over in Billings last," he lied, lifting a shoulder. "Probably head on over to Harlin next, seein' as it's in our general direction."

"Ah, and you'll be settin' off for Harlin about when?" He lifted a brow. "Excuse my pryin', but we're a close knit town and outsiders aren't so accustomed to our style of livin'. You understand."

"Reckon it'll only be a couple days before we set out," he replied, squeezing Olive's hand as she opened her mouth to say something. He knew her way of thinkin' and he didn't want her startin' a fight with Rex. Sooner the mayor left, sooner they could start planning. And if Olive stuck her quick wit into it, they were going to have a brawl on their hands and a whole lotta dead bar patrons.

Rex smiled, nodding. "Good then." he glanced at Olive. "Hope you ain't plannin' on takin' our trusted doctor here. Ain't seen her this involved for years now." He reached out to brush her cheek with his thumb but she turned her head away, glaring. Rex left his hand fall and stared at her a moment in anger before turning his gaze back toward Chance. "Need her around for fixin' up people, y'see. Once yer a part o' Smalls Town, you ain't fixin' to leave."

"Reckon the doc'll go or stay where she wants." He lifted a shoulder. "Not my right to say."

Rex nodded before folding his arms behind his back. "Real pleasure meetin' you. Hope you enjoy your days here in Smalls Town." He turned toward his lackeys, waving for them to leave. "Try not to break our poor doc's heart," he called over his shoulder. "She does enough mendin' of our town folk, doesn't need to mend herself too." He smiled cruelly before sauntering off.

The bar was quiet for awhile, before finally people went back to their drinkin' and their wallowin'.

"Went better than some other confrontations have," Buck mentioned, frowning over the loss of his good time.

"I  _hate_ that man," Chance heard Olive say, only loud enough for him to hear.

He squeezed her hand once more, ignoring how small and right it felt in his own.

"We got work to do," he said, turning to his crew. They all nodded and started for the stairs. He turned back to Olive, who shook her head.

"I got a bar to tend," she told him. "You go on and do what you have to and I'll take care of who I have to."

He nodded solemnly before letting go of her hand. He stopped a step later, however and turned back to her. "I'd take ya if you were willin'," he told her.

She smiled. "I know ya would." She shook her head. "I ain't fit for runnin' though."

He stared at her a moment. He knew she was going to tell him no, but he still wanted her to say she'd go if he did ask.

"Go on, Mr. Outlaw. I'll see you tomorrow," she told him, motioning with her hand.

Jaw set, his gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he finally made his way to the stairs. He had a town to save and ponderin' the ways of the heart just wasn't in his schedule.

He stayed up all night, going over the town and the people in it with the crew around him. They were being more careful with this one than any before it. Because they'd never really got close to the townspeople before, there ain't never been any leverage against them. But Rex made it clear that he knew Olive meant something to Chance and if he started something, she was sure to suffer. Then there was Mary-Louise and Kent to think of; he didn't want them hurtin' any because of them. They sacrificed sleep to go over every which way they could take back the town. Guns were gonna be a must, he knew. But he was hoping for little blood shed this time around. Olive was the doctor and she'd have to deal with it. Not to mention the fact that she loved Smalls Town and he didn't want it ravaged by them and their fight against Rex and his henchmen.

By morning, he was in a right sour mood. He walked down stairs with a furrow in his brow and a frown on his mouth. His spirits lifted some when he set eyes on Olive though. Seemed she decided to do the cooking that morning rather than Mary-Louise. "You hungry, Mr. Outlaw?" she called to him.

He smiled, nodding. "Reckon I am, doc," he replied, taking a seat on his usual stool. She dished him out a big plate and handed him a fresh cup of coffee.

The others weren't up yet and so they ate in silence for awhile. He noticed the way her eyes fell to half mass as she inhaled the scent of her coffee. She admitted that wasn't much of a drinker unless it came to coffee and he noticed now just how much she loved the dark brew. The expression on her face was downright sinful and he forced his eyes away when he started thinking of other ways to make that expression show.

"When you think you're gonna start this then?" she asked him, voice subdued.

"Tomorrow," he replied, staring into the mirror in front of them and catching her eyes through it.

She nodded, staying silent.

"You should get outta town for awhile," he told her. "Find somewhere to lie low ‘til it's all over."

She quirked a brow, smiling.

He sighed. "Didn't think you'd go for it."

"Then why suggest it?"

"Hope."

She turned to him. "Man like you ain't s'pose to care about someone like me. I'm just one of many. You find justice for the whole, remember?"

"Ain't never forgot," he said, moving his eggs around on his plate. "Reckon I might like you some. Don't want you gettin' in the cross fire. Even if ya can scoop out yer own bullet and stitch on the wound on your lonesome." He grinned at her.

She didn't smile back, staring at him curiously. She reached up, her small hand finding the side of his face and tracing it slowly. "You ain't a bad man, you know that Chance?"

"I ain't a good man," he denied.

"You don't  _think_ you are." She licked her lips. "You're gooder than a lot I've known though."

He shook his head. "You been livin' with a whole lotta bad men, doc. You see one a little less crooked, you see ‘em for better than what they are."

"Figure I see you better than you do," she told him, quietly. "And I see a real good man. Kind hearted and a lovin' individual." She pursed her lips, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "You can deny it all you want, Chance Kingston. But you're a hero and you're lookin' out for the underdog." He wanted to close his eyes, so soothing was her hand on him. Her fingers stroked higher before running through his sandy hair, tenderly. "Reckon I might like you some too."

"You shouldn't," he warned.

"Shouldn't," she agreed. "But it don't change how I feel."

His hand wrapped around her forearm and slid up slowly, thumb stroking her pulse at her wrist before finding her hand, twining their fingers. "I ain't good enough for ya doc."

"Do ya want to be?" she wondered, staring at him searchingly.

He lifted her palm and kissed the inside of it, lingering a moment. He could feel her fingers curling to touch his cheek. "I do." He put her hand in her lap and stared at their hands - hers so small and delicate while his were large and rough - before finally letting go. "But I'm not. And you deserve better than some outlaw."

"I like me an outlaw," she replied, voice low and husky. "More ‘an I ever thought I would."

He stared at her, eyes darkening as she licked her lips. "We ain't right together. I make wounds, you fix ‘em."

She nodded. "Come in handy when ya get yerself shot up, doncha think?"

He swallowed tightly as she leaned in closer. "You're settled good into this town and I roam all over, never settlin' down."

"I ain't askin' for marriage, Mr. Outlaw," she whispered.

"You deserve it," he murmured, his breath catching as her lips ghosted over his. His eyes fell to half-mass. "You're a good woman, doc, and I ain't nowhere near what you need."

Her hands rose up, clasping on either side of his face. "What's my favorite color, Chance?"

"Green," he replied, brows furrowing.

She nuzzled her nose against his. "What's my papa's name?"

"Grant."

She nodded. "And my momma's?"

He frowned. "You didn't say. You don't like talkin' ‘bout her much."

She licked her lips. "What's my favorite flower?"

"Tulip. Brought you a bunch yesterday," he muttered. "What's this about?"

"You ask anyone else and they wouldn't have the answers. You listen to me, you know me." She shook her head, fingers threading in his hair. "I can talk to you and be real with you. I can laugh an' smile an' feel free when I'm with you. You don't know how long it's been since I've felt that way." She shook her head. "I ain't never felt my heart speed up like it does when you walk into my office each mornin'. And when you call me doc..." She smiled. "You say it all fond like. Like it's your own kinda endearment." She bit her lip, staring into his eyes. "You ever ask anybody to come with you, Mr. Outlaw?"

He swallowed tightly. "Never."

"You ever wanted to?"

He shook his head. "Only you."

"You ever come into towns like these and get real connected to anybody?"

He sighed, eyes falling slightly. "Not my way."

"So why now, Chance?" she wondered, brows furrowing. "Why me?"

His hand lifted, finding her soft cheek. "Couldn't stay away, I reckon."

"I ain't askin' you to stay," she whispered strongly, but her eyes were watery. "But I don't want to let this moment pass me by. I don't wanna regret you years from now, when lil' Buck comes a callin'," she said with a laugh.

He wiped away the tear that fell his thumb and stroked her cheek. She looked so sad and still she was pretty. All the reasons it was a bad idea went through his mind, but he couldn't hear them over the pounding of his heart in his ears. He leaned in and captured her mouth, intendin' for it to be a short kiss, a way of ending things. But as soon as her mouth met his, it was as if a fuse had been lit and there was no puttin' it out. She sighed into his mouth and his tongue reached for hers, dancing and tangling. His hands buried in her hair while her fell to his neck, drawing him up closer. She tasted like coffee and freedom and he'd never known anything sweeter.

His arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her body up against his. She was soft and warm and the feel of her breasts sent heat flashing down to his toes and back up to his mouth. He nibbled her lips, laving them with his tongue, as she whimpered and suckled his tongue into her mouth. He could feel her nails curving to graze his neck enticingly. Somehow they got turned around so she was sittin' on top of the bar and he was between her parted legs, one of his hands slipping from her waist to wrap around her thigh over her dress.

Their mouths broke apart when she couldn't put off air any longer. Her head fell back, body arching and his lips attached to the long column of her neck. He kissed under her chin; slowly and tenderly making a path down to her shoulder and across her collar. Her hands lifted up to his hair, fingers wrapping tight as his mouth fell lower to kiss along the top of her breasts, revealed by her dress. Her breath caught and she tugged on his hair, drawing him closer. His hands slid up her thighs to her waist as he kissed back up her chest. He pushed the strap of her dress off her shoulder with his nose, his lips brushing over her skin, breath panting down against her.

His hands slid up her back, his body pressing in close until they were chest to chest. Slowly, he placed lingering kisses up the curve of her neck once more until he was at her mouth again. Their lips were so close, almost brushing with each ragged breath they took. Her hands fell from his hair and traced the curves and dips of his face.

"You ever feel like this?" she wondered, eyes searching.

"What do you think doc?"

She smiled.

"Hey now, you better not be doin' what I think yer doin' on my god dang bar!" Mary-Louise's voice shouted from the stairs as she hurried down them, looking annoyed.

Olive smiled at her, chuckling. "I twisted my ankle is all and he helped me up onto the bar to keep it from hurtin'."

"That right?" Mary-Louise asked skeptically, brow lifted as she turned to Chance.

He shrugged. "Sounds about right."

She pursed her lips before walking around to the back of the bar. "How is it you both got so dang mussed up from her twistin' her ankle then?" she asked, smiling knowingly.

Olive glared at her before hopping down from the bar. "Fine. Be that way. I gone along with your lie when your daddy walked in on you an' Kent all over each other in the barn that one time, if you remember."

"Hey now, we ain't talkin' about me!" she replied, frowning.

Olive rolled her eyes before making her way to the door. "I'm gonna go freshen up. Breakfast is waitin' in the back, you just serve it up for ‘em, Mary-Louise," she called before walking out the doors and crossing to her office.

"You gone and fell for her, didn't ya?" Chance heard Mary-Louise say.

He turned to her. "I ain't fall for anybody. Not my way."

"Seems you're doin' a lot that ain't your way." She leaned forward, frowning. "You break her heart, I break your neck. And don't think I can't do it just ‘cause I'm a woman. I got ways." She leaned back. "Now I don't know you well, Chance. Heard a lot and seen some. But I see the way you look at my cousin and it's for damn sure the same way Kent looked at me when we first met. You're fallin' and you're fallin' fast." She wiped off the counter where Olive had been sitting, eyes thinned suspiciously for a moment before she looked back up at him. "You either make an honest woman of her or you walk away from the only woman to ever make you feel like this. Freedom comes in a lot of ways, Mr. Kingston. And you can pretend you ain't found it in her ‘til the cows come home. But one day you're gonna have to face it and I only hope that it ain't when she's already married off to someone else." She put a hand on her hip and stared at him. "She's about the best girl I know and if you ain't willing to marry her, I bet there's a hundred others who would lay down everything they got to."

He frowned. "I'm sure they would. And they'd all probably deserve her more than I do."

"Ain't a matter of deservin', it's a matter of the heart." She shook her head. "And those two ain't got nothin' in common. We love who we love, don't matter whether we deserve ‘em or they deserve us."

He sighed, looking down at his plate of food, thinkin' hard. She let him alone and got to cleanin' up the bar. The others came down from their rooms and sat down for breakfast.

"Where's Ms. Olive at? No way you made this," Buck mentioned, smiling up at Mary-Louise.

"I coulda. Didn't, but I coulda." She lifted a shoulder. "Went on over to her office."

"Then what are  _you_ doing over here?" Austin Cash wondered, lookin' over at Chance. "You ain't never stay longer than you have to. And we all know you're itchin' to get over and see her."

He frowned. "I'm not itchin' for nothin'."

"Boss," Buck said with a chuckle. "We know you better than anybody. And we know you got a thing for Ms. Olive. We ain't upset about it. She's a good woman."

"I ain't got not no thing for anybody," he muttered, glowering.

They sighed, shaking their heads at his stubbornness.

He stood up, frowning as he turned and walked out of the bar. He went for a walk around the town, deep in thought. He knew what he was denyin' and he knew his friends were right. He ain't ever been a coward, but things like feelings weren't something he dealt with often. It was easier that way; didn't have to mourn for the townspeople that were killed because of him and his trying to help ‘em out. Didn't have to think about his dead pops and how he ain't never killed a man, even if a gun was aimed right at his head. Used to be, he was the spittin' image of his pops, but now he was just a hardened man with a gun and a grudge, takin' down all those that resembled the man who took his town and his dad's life.

Time he stopped his thinking, he was just outside of Olive's office. He sighed, walkin' up the steps and makin' his way in to see her. She was behind her desk, her hair pulled up and a pencil stuck behind her ear. She looked up at him as the bell jangled above his head. He walked over, jaw clenched and a whole lot of words on his mind that he didn't know how to get out.

"Reason I won't get tangled up with ya isn't because I don't wanna," he admitted, staring at her as she sat behind her desk, listening intently. "It's cause I'm not sure I could just walk away when it's all done with." There, he said it.

She smiled, slow and sad. "Well I ain't sure I want to see you go."

"Ya see? It complicates things. You and me, we're..." He sighed, shaking his head. "Ya get my head all fussed up and I can't concentrate. You smell too good and look too pretty and I just can't... I can't..."

"Can't stop thinkin' about me," she murmured.

"Exactly. And I can't do no killin' when I'm thinkin' of you. Of where you are or if you're okay or none of that. We're two very different people, Olive."

She nodded. "And yet we feel the same."

He frowned. "I shouldnt'a got involved with ya. Should'a stuck to my ways and left ya alone."

"You really think you could have?" she asked, staring up at him challengingly.

He stared back at her, wanting to say of course he could. Ain't nothin' ever stopped him from doing what he needed to. But then he was lookin' at her soft lips; same lips he'd kissed not an hour ago. And her hair, so soft and yellow as gold, easy to run his hands through. That skin o' hers; softer than anything he ever touched in his life. Then there were them eyes... Damn near get lost in those, he figured. "No," he admitted on a sigh. He shook his head, hatin' how confused he felt. "This ain't right."

She stood up and rounded the desk, stepping in front of him. "Then why does it feel like it is?"

"I don't know. I don't..." He sighed, frustrated and reached for her, his hand finding her hip and drawing her closer to him. "You're a god fearing woman who obeys the law and I'm runnin' from it every dang day. Got a price on my head bigger than what the mayor's prolly ever taken from his town. I could wind up dead tomorrow or gone by night and still I can't stop thinkin' about havin' you in every god dang way possible."

Her breathing had increased with each word until she was shaking with want and staring up at him heatedly. "Then have me," she murmured.

He kissed her; hard and fierce and possessive and he didn't ever want to let go. Her arms wrapped tight around his neck and her body pressed against him in all the right ways. She stumbled back toward her desk, bringing him with her and when her back finally hit it, he picked her up and sat her down on it. Her hands fell from around his neck to wander down his chest, undoing buttons and pushing apart the fabric to touch his bare chest with soft fingers. She pushed his shirt and suspenders off his shoulders until it hung down behind him by the tails stuck inside his pants.

Panting, their mouths broke apart and she pressed her lips to his chest, kissing down the creases and running her fingers over his scars. His hands were shaking as they parted the back of her dress, button by button and pulled it down her front and over her arms. She shrugged out of the white underdress until it was left pooled at her waist, revealing her creamy white top half. All the ways this was wrong came to mind, but he forgot how to think as she slipped her hands into the top of his trousers and drew them down. He ran his hands down her back, so soft and bare against his rough palms. Unblemished and untouched by any but him.

He felt her lips kissing his abdomen, mouth trailing all around, tongue peeking out to taste his skin. One of his hands buried in her hair, tangling in her blonde curls. She drew away from him, her lips puffy and her face flushed. She leaned back on the desk and he ducked his head low to kiss her shoulder. His hand fell from her collar, fingers fanning out to trail down her front, grazing the valley of her breasts and the ticklish expanse of her ribs before settling over her navel and sliding to the side to grip her hip. He kissed down her chest, enveloping one of her dusky nipples with his mouth, suckling and laving it with his teeth and tongue. She whimpered, her hand wrapping around his neck and tugging at his hair.

"Chance," she murmured, nails grazing over his scalp.

His name sounded so different from her mouth; sensual and soft and loving.

He kissed across to her other breast, massaging the abandoned firm mound in his rough hand, circling her pink center with his calloused thumb. She arched into his touch and his mouth, her hands falling down his back, scoring his flesh with her nails. Releasing her breast, he lifted his mouth back to hers, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. He leaned across her, their chests meeting, flesh to bare flesh. Her eyes opened, meeting his, and it was all right there. Those feelings he kept ignoring and the words that were stuck in his throat. She loved him and he loved her and there ain't nothin' wrong with it.

His hands fell to her knees, dragging her dress up until it was all bunched at her waist. His hands slid up her thighs, parting them. Fingers slid against her warm, wet slit, exploring her heat slow and tender. Her eyes fluttered, head falling back and her body shook with pleasure. He circled her clit with his thumb, the rest of his fingers stroking her folds, two delving inside of her. She cried out, eyes falling shut entirely and he leaned forward to kiss her neck, nuzzling her with his nose. She was so tight and hot around his fingers and each twitch of her against him had him hardening further, painfully. He'd never needed anybody so bad. Finally her quivering exploded all around him and she whimpered, body shaking and arching and lifting to take more of the intense pleasure his fingers gave her.

She tipped her head down to kiss him, slower now, more tender and then she grabbed his hips and pulled him up close to her. She pushed his pants down further until he was free of the restraint entirely. "Have me," she reiterated, nipping his lower lip.

He kissed her deeper before thrusting forward and entering her completely. Her arms wrapped around his waist, fingers pressing against his lower back to keep him still for a moment. Their mouths were open but pressed close, their breathing mingling together as she panted. Her tongue reached for his and she opened her eyes, tilting her hips and he took his cue. He drew out slowly before sliding back into her wet heat. She slid her hands up his back, clutching at him tightly. He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck, fingers gripping her soft hair, thumb stroking her skin in tandem with each plunge he made, deep inside of her.

Every worry he ever had, every fear or doubt, fell away. There was nothing but seeing, inhaling, touching, tasting, having  _her_. His whole life he'd been lookin' out for others; the ones that couldn't take care of themselves. And for once, it felt so god dang good to have just something for himself. Someone to love and have and know that she felt it right back. His life had been and grueling and full of death and shooting. He'd been a bad man and met badder. He'd seen good people suffer and die and plead for somebody to come and save ‘em. And he'd done what he could, all the while tryin' to shrug off the hurt that came with that job. Knowin' that not everybody was gonna get saved and that in the end, he was just a passerby in life. He did his peace, he moved on, and he didn't have anybody to remember him. He'd have a reputation sure, and maybe there'd be a few people that remembered that man that lead them folks to help their town. But none of them were going to remember him for him. He was just another face in the crowd.

But Olive would remember him. She'd remember "Mr Outlaw" and how he kissed, touched, listened, and felt. She'd remember what it was like to dance with him that night; freedom in each step they took. She'd remember the way he called her "doc" real affectionate like. And she for god dang wouldn't forget how he felt inside of her.

His forehead fell to her shoulder, eyes falling shut as he gripped her hip and slid in and out, deeper and harder, and enveloped in her satiny heat. So tight and shaking around him so incredibly. She whimpered and cried his name, panting and gasping for air. She gripped his shoulders, scored his back, tugged at his hair, all the while asking for more, for all of him. He kissed down her shoulder, his lips placed over her heart. He swore he could feel it beatin' outta her chest, hear it in his ears, matchin' his own rapid heart. He pressed his cheek to her breast, so soft but firm against his whiskered jaw. He nuzzled her breast, his whiskers scraping against her. She arched into the feel, one of her hands wrapping around the back of his neck and drawing him closer.

Sweat was breaking out over his skin and he could taste the salty flavor as he kissed her skin, trailing up to her neck. Her knees pressed against his hips, thighs shaking. He met her lips with a breathless kiss, their tongues reaching for each other. She cried out, parting from him as he hit a spot inside of her just right. She tipped her head, the rest of her leaning back. It gave him more of an advantage to touch her; hands sliding down her slick stomach to touch her wet slit, circling her clit, as she bucked against him, tightening all around his length. Her hands held his biceps, fingers digging in, mails scraping against him.

He kissed down her neck, suckling at her skin and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. He could feel it all building up inside. The tension starting in his stomach and spreading throughout the rest of him. The idea of letting go of his restraint was hard to take. He was always in control; knew exactly what he was doing at every moment. But with her, it was like none of that mattered any more. He was breakin' his own rules, gettin' involved and likin' it too damn much. And in a second it was all going to come to one incredible end and he wasn't sure he liked the idea. What was gonna happen after this? Would he just get dressed and leave? He didn't want to. He didn't... He didn't want to think anymore. He just wanted to  _have_.

"Olive," he breathed against her.

"Stop fightin' it," she panted, turning her head down to kiss his shoulder.

And he did. And it was incredible. The way she shook around him, yelled his name, held onto him as if lettin' go meant fallin' apart. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist, her face buried against him, hot breath panting against him. The coil of tense pleasure unwound and he jerked forward, emptying all of himself inside of her. He never felt anything so fulfilling, so  _right_. Her hands were soothing as they ran up and down his back, rubbing and kneading and bringing him down from the intense pleasure.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt at ease. He was always lookin' for what might be around the next corner, what else might be out to get him. Be it the law or someone breakin' it. But in that moment, his arms wrapped around her and nothin' but the rhythmic sound of her breathing and the feel of her hands, he'd never been more ease in his life.

"You're fallin' asleep on me, ain't ya?" she asked, her voice partly teasing.

He smiled, kissing her shoulder. "Jus' a little."

She drew back from him and looked up, her cheeks flushed and her hair mussed. "Come on, Mr. Outlaw. You can sleep it off in my bed."

He knew his room was across the street and there wasn't nothin' wrong with it. But the way she was lookin' at him and how she hopped down from the desk, lettin' her dress fall to the floor, forgotten, he figured there wasn't anythin' better he could want than lyin' down with her. He followed her upstairs, his hand still held in hers, fingers twined. And she climbed right into her bed next to him, cuddlin' up close and restin' her head on his shoulder, She felt soft and warm and perfect right there next to him. He hadn't shared a bed with a woman for some time and even then, it hadn't been anything like this. They didn't feel like he and he found himself thinkin' that he didn't want anybody else but her from that moment forgwar. That thought scared him some, but he was too damn sleepy to think on it much. So he let the warmth of her body against him soothe him into sleep, turning on his side and enveloping her with his arm.

Time he woke up, she was wide awake and straddlin' him. Didn't take him long to get the hang of things and they were using her soft bed for a much slower, more tender show of their feelin's. He used the extra time to explore her body some more and learn what made her moan and scream and beg for more. They ignored the ringin' of the bell below at her door, of Vaughn and Austin Cash callin' for either of ‘em, just to see what they were up to. He spent the afternoon lavishing her body with all he had. He still wasn't sure what was gonna happen in the end, but he figured there wasn't no point in wastin' what time he did have with her. And he enjoyed every second of it.

When night fell, they were just lyin' in her bed, cuddled up close together. He wasn't used to feeling loved. Didn't know if he was s'pose to talk or just enjoy the silence. She drew random shapes on his chest, kissing his shoulder from time to time. Their legs were tangled beneath the thin sheet. He found her skin fascinating; how it was so soft while all of him felt so rough. He made sure to kiss every single inch of her, tasting her heat with just as much fervor as he kissed the backs of her knees or around her ankles. And she did the same back, wanting to know every inch of him. Never felt so cherished, as sissy a word it sounded. She made him feel needed and wanted and loved.

"So what's your plan tomorrow, Mr. Outlaw?" she asked, turning her head to look at him.

He sighed. "Reckon we'll do what he always do. And if it don't work, then we'll just shoot ‘em."

She laughed, shakin' her head. "Sounds like a plan."

He smiled. "Took a real long time to get right, too."

"I'm sure," she murmured, snuggling in closer.

"Think we should head on over yet?" he asked, though his arm tightened around her. He wanted more just to stay where he was and never move. Keep her in his arms for as long as he could. Didn't care much for anything else.

"That crew o' yours should get a good meal in ‘em before tomorrow and we both know Mary-Louise ain't gonna cook it."

He nodded, brow lifting. His hand ran up and down her bare back slowly, fingers tracing the curve of her spine.

"Can't laze around in bed all night too," she said with a sigh, voice rather sad.

"Like to," he admitted.

She lifted her head and leaned down to kiss him, slow and lingering. "Maybe when you clean up this town, you'll stay another night and we can spend it right here."

He licked his lips and stared into her eyes. Maybe he'd spend more than a night or two. Could be he'd spend a few years, maybe the rest of his life. Instead of tellin' her so, he kissed her, hand wrapping in her hair and drawing her down close. She met each slant of his lips with fervor but broke away before things could get too heavy. "We start this, we ain't gettin' outta this bed ever," she said, chewing her bottom lip and lookin' at him with heavy eyes.

He grinned, nodding. "Best get you dressed then." He reached out and trailed a finger down her collar to the valley of her breasts. "Too temptin' without ‘em."

She smiled, shakin' her head at him before she climbed outta bed and started dressin'. It was almost sinful to see all of her covered again. Somethin' so beautiful, shouldn't be hidden away. Reckoned he wouldn't take others lookin' at her too well though. He climbed up and got his clothes back on, eyes watching her the whole time as each creamy limb was hidden away. She turned to him, flushed slightly as if she'd felt his gaze on her the whole time. After what they'd done, there wasn't no point in modesty. But he loved the tinge of her cheeks anyway. They walked downstairs and through her office, his hand findin' hers as they crossed the road toward Mary-Louise's. He glared at his crew as they all whistled when they walked in; hootin' and hollerin' and drawin' attention to ‘em.

He kissed her before she went in the back to get dinner ready and he took a seat at the bar, acceptin' the beer Mary-Louise passed him. He ignored the way Buck, Vaughn, Austin Cash and Dena were lookin' at him expectantly, but they wouldn't quit their starin', so he sighed. "What?"

"What happened to you ain't fallin' for nobody? And it just ain't your way?" Dena asked, smirking.

"Changed my ways some," he replied, frownin'.

"Doc's a good woman," Vaughn said simply. "Hope your gonna make her an honest one."

His jaw tightened. Problem was he was actually considering just that.

The night went on just fine. They ate, they talked, they were more comfortable during the night before the big show down than they'd ever been in the past. And when the bar was finally closed up, he went on with Olive back to her place, instead of stayin' in his room. He held her through the night, his arm around her waist and his face buried in her hair. Didn't sleep none; just held her. Tight and close and enjoyed the feel of her. He knew come mornin' everything could change. But he liked how it was and he didn't want to think on it too much. Could be he might talk himself outta somethin' good.

When the sun rose, she stirred, turning over in his arms and just sighin' against his chest, as if she was used to him bein' there and there ain't never been a time he wasn't. He liked that; liked it real nice.

The dressed in quiet, somethin' real heavy in the air. She done up the buttons on his shirt and leaned against the wall, watchin' as he shaved. She lathed up his chin for ‘im and he took his time with the blade. Ain't no use in hurryin'. Time would come when it came. He'd gone through the same motions a hundred times before, he just had Olive there to share in it. Felt a little more  _something_ , with her there. He just didn't know the word for it.

When he was finished, she wiped away the last of the soap and kissed his smooth chin. They made their way downstairs, his arm wrapping loose around her waist as they made their way out to the dirt road between her place and Mary-Louise's. It was as they reached the middle, that he heard the guns cock. He came to a quick stop, arm tightening around her. She looked up at him in confusion before lookin' around at the group of Rex's lackey's, all pointed their rifles at ‘em.

Chance turned sideways, expressionless as Rex stepped out, pistol in hand and a smug expression on his face. "I been takin' care of this town here for some time and I ain't need you comin' in here messin' that up," Rex called to him.

"Seems to me you ain't takin' all the good ‘a care of it," Chance replied, lifting a brow.

"Now you see, that where we differ. Town thrives much as it can and well, that kinda thrivin' takes money. Now these folks understand these ways and when types like you and yours come in, it confuses ‘em." Rex waved his gun around. "Way I see it, you done and made this mess for yaself. Shoulda gone right on through and we wouldn't be havin' this problem." He looked over at Olive with a cruel smile. "I can see where the appeal for stayin' comes from though." He tipped his head. "Best to just get that appeal right outta the way, I say."

His gun tipped right quick and he pulled the trigger without pause. Chance didn't think on it much; he knew where the bullet was headed and he wasn't willin' to let it happen. He covered Olive with his body, arms wrapping around her. She whispered his name and tried to push him outta the way, but he didn't budge and he felt the bullet puncture though his back, deep and hard. The pain was fierce and he felt his knees wobble beneath him but he stayed upright. Then Rex shot again and he felt a second bullet him, lower now, ‘bout where his stomach was. He slipped then, falling to his knees in the dirt. She went down with him, her hands runnin' through his hair, tryin' to soothe him. He looked at her; his vision was blurry, but he could see her tears.

"You're gonna be okay," she promised. "I'll fix ya up good. I promise."

"Go," he choked out. He could feel the blood risin' up his throat. He knew he didn't much left in him. "Get outta here. Get somewheres safe."

She shook her head, sniffling. "I ain't goin' nowhere," she told him, her arms wrapping around him. He could feel her palms against the bullet wounds, like she was tryin' to stop the blood. Wasn't what a doc would do, he knew. But she ain't thinkin' like a doctor, just a lover.

He heard the doors from Mary-Louise's bang open and then bullets were flyin'. His crew was shootin' down Rex's lackeys with swift arms and angry cussin'. He couldn't breathe right and all he could see was Olive, starin' back at him and tryin' to hold him up. And then he saw it in her face. She jerked, her stomach pressin' against his and her eyes widening in shock. She looked down, lettin' out a shaky laugh. He could feel the blood from her wound seepin' through his shirt. She lifted her eyes back up to his. "Hurts more ‘an I thought," she admitted in a shaky whisper.

"Olive," he murmured as she started slipping back. "Olive," he repeated as her eyes fell closed and her body became limp. "Doc! Come on," he said, ignoring his own pain.

The shooting stopped and he leaned over her, laying her down on the ground beside him.

"Open yer eyes, doc. Come on girl, look at me," he pleaded, his hand cupping her face.

Her eyes opened, but they were dull and she was palin' quick.

"Now look at that boys, ole King of the West just lost his queen," he heard Rex shout mockingly. "Can't have that, now. Royalty should lie down arms together." He felt a third bullet get him in the back and he collapsed next to her in the dirt, head collidin' hard with the ground. She was lyin' on her side, facin' him and he took her hand in his, holdin' tight.

He could hear the footsteps comin' his way and he looked up with a frown that couldn't hold, no strength left in him.

"AIn't nobody takin' my money or my town from me, Chance Kingston," Rex spat at him.

"Wrong move," Chance croaked out, blood staining his teeth. "You ain't never... shoot a man... in the back."

Suddenly, bullets started hailing down as the townspeople came out to fight and Chance's four cohorts stepped forward, guns aimed at Rex. He turned away from the scared lookin' mayor, focusin' on Olive whose mouth was pinched in pain and eyes half lidded as she lay drifin' in an' out. "Keep your eyes on me, doc," he told her.

"Now don't be hasty, folks," Rex told the four gunmen. "‘m sure we can business. A reward could be comin' your way."

"You hear that?" Buck asked, flickin' his hat up with his finger. "I think he's pleadin'."

"Ain't no mayor plead with outlaws," Austin Cash said, spittin' on the ground before Rex's feet. "Downright cowardly."

"Reckon he ought be taught how to act ‘round outlaws," Dena suggested, cocking her hip out and smilin' her red lipped smile.

"Way we see it, Mayor, you gone and shot two innocents, robbed a town, and now you're goin' against your own god-dang laws," Vaughn told him, whistling. "And you know the punishment for breakin' the law donchu?"

"Reckon he taught a whole lotta townspeople just what that punishment was when they didn't pay up," Buck said, nodding.

"Refresher couse, ‘m guessin'," Vaughn said with a nod.

"My pleasure," Buck told him.

"Figured you might stay," Olive told him, quietly. "Didn't think this was how it was gonna happen."

"Don't talk like that, doc. You're gonna be fine. You're gonna grow old out here, few grandbabies underfoot." He nodded, swallowing the blood that was fixin' to get out through his throat.

She laughed, low and choked. "Yeah and who's gonna father the babes that give me grandbabies, Mr. Outlaw? You?"

"I'm thinkin' so," he breathed, straining to get a little closer to her.

She curled up against him, wincing in pain. She put her head down on his shoulder and sighed. "'m thinkin' were gonna die together ‘fore we ever really lived together."

He turned his head and kissed her forehead. "I don't regret one second with you."

"All the sinnin' we did, I reckon you wouldn't."

He laughed, but it petered out as his stomach clenched in agony.

"I just want you to know," she whispered. "I done fell in love with ya, Chance Kingston."

He closed his eyes and held her close. "I love you too, doc."

"Be reasonable now," he heard Rex shout. "You can't shoot a goddamn Mayor!"

"When you dead, you ain't nothin' but a corpse," Buck told him, pulling the trigger.

Chance heard the thump of Rex hittin' the ground and then felt his last breath leave him. He could feel Olive's limp body against his; her rhythmic breathing no longer a soothing sound to his ears. He couldn't see anything, not even her sweet face. Everything was slowing down, lot like it had when they was layin' up in her bed. Found he didn't hate it too much. Life just didn't seem to want to let him be happy or content. The one time he found somethin' worth stayin' for, someone he could really love and find peace with, world had to go and take her from him. Take his own life with it. Figured it was easier to die with her than live a life without her though. He let the darkness take him, not a bone left in him wantin' to fight. World could oppose him all it wanted, but wherever he went after this; to Vaughn's heaven or if he came back in some other body in some other time, he decided he was gonna find her. Ain't nothin' felt right ‘til he had her in his arms and he wasn't willin' to let go of that feeling. Ain't death or life or anythin' else was gonna take her from him.

Together, lying in the dusty street of the newly freed Smalls Town, was the lover and the fighter, hands and souls entwined in an eternity of life and death.


	7. The Mobster and His Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mob feuds have nothing on love.

**Part Seven:** _The Mobster and His Girl_

Anybody who was anybody knew that Callista Vitarro - better known as just Callie V - was off limits. Daughter to the mob boss Tony "The Noose" Vitarro meant nobody got anywhere near her unless they wanted death to come a knockin' in the form of cement shoes and a bullet in the brain. Now Ollie Gambozzo, brother to mob boss Frank "Cutthroat" Gambozzo knew this. Always had; never forgot it. But he'd known Callie V since pre-school. Two of ‘em were in every class together from kindergarten to graduation. And it wasn't no secret to anybody that he was sweet on her. But the Vitarro and Gambozzo mobs had been feudin' since they was made. Ain't nobody remember why, ‘cept for maybe Frank and Tony themselves. But it was known and never questioned that the Gambozzo's stayed away from the Vitarro's and vice versa, otherwise a street war was gonna break out and a whole lotta innocents were gonna wind up dead. But Ollie wasn't so quick to give up on Callie and while she'd been ignoring his interest since they were at the age to realize girls weren't icky and boys were cute but trouble, she was sweet on him back.

Now Callie V wasn't dumb - she knew not to get into anything with him; for her and his sake. Her pops would have him dead so quick, she wouldn't even have time to blink. But it was gettin' hard to put him off when he was everywhere she was and lookin' so goddamn handsome. She stopped by old Tim Jacob's shop for a pack of smokes for her cousin. She ain't touch ‘em none; didn't like how they smelled. And as she was walkin' out, Ollie appeared from beside the door and started walkin' with her.

"Fine mornin', ain't it Callie?" he asked her, hands stuffed in his pockets. His warm brown eyes were sharp; lookin' for any of his brother's guys or any of her pop's guards. She didn't go anywhere without someone keepin' an eye on her. She was damn good at gettin' outta their sights though and just one smile of hers could make any guy trust her enough to say she could go for a walk on her own. Even if it meant facin' "The Noose" later.

"Fine enough ‘til you got here, ‘bozzo," she replied, frowning

He smiled. She'd been calling him that since they was young. Anybody else use it they'd get a knife to the gut; he had a reputation his brother wasn't gonna let him tarnish none. But when it was her, he kinda liked it. "You goin' to The Rainbow tonight?" he asked.

She looked up at him, her brow quirked. "You know you ain't allowed to set foot in The Rainbow. My pops'll shoot you down before you even send that smile of yours at the dancers."

He shook his head. "I'll be there if you're goin'. Ain't gonna risk it if ya aren't."

She turned to him, hands finding her hips. "You wanna get yaself killed, ‘bozzo?" She shook her head. "You're gonna find yourself in a river if you don't quit with your chasin'."

"I can swim just fine." He grinned. "When you gonna give into me, Callie V?"

She sighed, lookin' over at him with a sad frown. "You ain't never gonna get it through that thick head of yours, are ya?" She licked her lips, glancing around. "I ain't worth dyin' over, Ollie. You go find yourself one of them girls that's right with the Gambozzo's." She reached up and readjusted his tie for him, smoothing it down over his chest. "Careful now. Vinny's around the corner and he ain't never liked you." She turned around then and walked away, a sway in her hips that drew his eyes down.

"You didn't answered my question," he called after her.

She turned around, brow lifted. "I ain't gonna be anywhere near there tonight," she replied. "So keep yourself bullet free and stay home, ‘bozzo."

He chuckled. She was gonna be there and he was gonna get himself a dance.

Callie walked around the corner, lifting a hand to wave at Vinny before she made her way up the stairs leadin' to her cousin Louie's house. She didn't know why he didn't get his own smokes, but he never did. Must be his mom, she decided. She was real strict and would start out on one of her rants if she found out Louie was smokin'. She smiled to herself. If her aunt knew that Louie was currently datin' Claire from down the road, she'd probably smack him upside the head. Claire was a good girl; real nice and shy. Louie on the other hand was outspoken and a bit of a trouble maker. His mom probably didn't want him tarnishing good little Claire. But when the two weren't tearin' each other's heads off with their bickering, they were gettin' on real fine.

She knocked on Louie's door once before pushin' it open and walkin' in. She tossed the smokes to her cousin as he sat up from his bed where he'd been writing. He was takin' some course in college and while his spelling was awful, he was a good writer.

"Any trouble?" Louie wondered.

"I'm alive ain't I?"

"You run into your little boyfriend?" he asked, smirking.

"I ain't datin' Gambozzo and you know it!" she replied sourly, leaning back in the chair she sat down in.

Louie lit up a smoke and opened a window so the smell wouldn't bug her or sit in the room long enough to get his mom wondering. "You wanna be though, don't you?" He nodded knowingly. "Yeah I seen the way you look at him. Gettin' all hot over the wrong guy, cuz. Your pops would have him dead before you even climax."

"Why you always gotta be so crude, Louie?" she asked, shaking her head.

"Just my way," he replied, shrugging. "Can't tell me I'm wrong, can ya? ‘Cause you been lustin' after him since fuckin' elementary school."

"I have not," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah right. Ever since he kissed ya that one day, you've been actin' like you don't like him, but you do. You just don't want your pops getting' a hold of him."

"That kiss was three seconds long and I barely remember it. I'm surprised you do. Punched him good for it too," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

"And he just smiled right back atcha," Louie said, shaking his head. "Guy's had it bad for you for too long. Fuckin' stupid if you ask me. You two get together, you're both dead. His brother'll either kill him or kill you. Then your pop's ‘ll do the same." He licked his lips, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing it out in rings. "Ain't worth it, cuz."

"Yeah? You don't think Claire would be worth it?" she asked, eyes thinning.

"Hey! Claire and I ain't like you two. She ain't part of the mob at all, ain't got no ties to it. She's a good one and so's her family. The Gambozzo's ain't nothin' but trouble and you're askin' for it if you let that guy get anywhere near ya." He stubbed out his smoke, standing up from his bed and grabbing a coat. "I know what it's like to want someone and not think you can have ‘em. But I'm lookin' out for ya here. You stay away from Ollie. I don't wanna be buryin' you."

"You ain't gonna be buryin' me anytime soon Louie," she replied, standing up and shaking her head. "I don't want no Gambozzo brother and he don't want me. He's just playin' games is all." She walked past him to the door and made her way downstairs.

"You can't fake that look he gets in his eyes, cuz," Louie called from behind her. "And games don't last goin' on eight years."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. As they stepped outside, Louie adjusted his coat collar and nodded at her. "You just keep your head about you."

"Yeah, yeah. Am I gonna see you an' Claire at The Rainbow tonight or what?" she wondered.

He started walking backwards, off toward Claire's house. "Yeah, we might stop in." He lifted a shoulder. "Fuckin' place is always so busy, hard to find anybody I know."

"You show up, just leave a message at the bar, I'll pick it up and come find you." She nodded, lifting a hand to wave at him as she turned to walk toward her house.

"You sure you don't wanna take the car, Callie V?" Vinny asked, lifting a brow.

"You need the exercise, Vin," she replied, bumping his shoulder with her own. "Come on, we make it to the hot dog stand without you jumpin' in the car, I'll buy you one."

He grinned. "With all the stuff?"

"All the stuff," she agreed.

"You always been my favorite," he told her, nodding.

She laughed, smiling up at him.

The car followed beside them the whole time. She'd grown used to it. Always had someone watchin' her back since she was big enough to walk. Streets were never safe but she wasn't gonna spend her life hidden away in her pop's house. Her family had never done anything the legal way and while she didn't agree, there wasn't much she could do. She was born a Vitarro and she was proud to be one, even if she didn't want any part of the killings that went on behind the scenes. Her mom was the same, always pretending like her husband was a good, hard working man who sold cars for a living. Her pops ain't never driven a car, let alone sold one. He was driven to and from wherever he wanted to be and he was well known in the community. His face was the picture of nightmares for some. She supposed it was the same for Frank Gambozzo over on his side of town.

She'd wondered more than once why it was she was born into the family she was. She didn't believe in their ways, not like how her brothers did. She didn't think it was right, going against the law and makin' everybody pay just for bein'. Seemed her dad or Ollie's brother had their hand in everything and it was the little guy that suffered. The honest working man just tryin' to scrape by and make a livin'. Wasn't like she could say she wanted out though. She was the daughter of a mob boss and there wasn't any turning her back on them.

What made it all a little worse was that she knew that if she ever did leave the family, Ollie Gambozzo would be right there to help her get out. He wasn't like his brother. He'd stabbed a few, she knew. Never enough to kill ‘em. And he wasn't known for bein' the nicest guy there was. He could be mean and hard and downright scary to some. But it was all an act - one his brother made sure he kept up. She'd seen him when none of the Gambozzo guys were around and he was a good guy. Always paid for whatever he wanted rather than stiff the store owners by sayin' he deserved it, because of his name. He always gave the bum that sat outside Tom's shop a few bucks or a sandwich he bought especially for him. And he smiled a lot, real nice and warm whenever he was around her. He hadn't given up on her since they were just eleven years old. He'd been sweet on her since and he let her know that he still was every chance he got.

Once upon a time, when she was young enough to think being sweet on a boy meant happily every after, she dreamt of days where they'd run away together, to another city to live on their own. But reality set in real quick as soon as she got her head outta the clouds and she realized that ain't never gonna happen. Her dad would find her, kill Ollie and maybe even her if he was angry enough. So she closed off her heart and she hardened herself to the ways of the world, even if Ollie never really did. He still had the real sweet smile for her, thinkin' maybe this time she might just give in and while she wanted to, she always brushed off his attempts and went back to bein' Callie V; untouchable.

After pickin' Vinny up a hotdog with all the works, they made their way home. She kissed her dad on the cheek and waved to her mom who was making dinner and then hurried upstairs to get ready. She only had a couple hours until she had to be at The Rainbow and while she knew she told Ollie not to come, she had a feelin' the daredevil in him would have him lookin' for her just in case. She didn't often go against her dad's rules, but Ollie Gambozzo always woke somethin' up inside her, made her stomach squirm and her heart skip a beat and a smile that she was careful not to share with most come out. She searched around for something to wear and ended up picking one of her green dresses; she always seemed to look for that color when it came to Ollie. He too had a love for the color, always wearing a green tie or shirt that somehow brought out those eyes of his.

She sighed. She should just learn that love ain't never comin' for her, not in the form of no Gambozzo.

That night at The Rainbow, Callie wandered away from her dad and any of his guards to get a soda from the bar. She nodded hello to Jackie the bartender that offered to slip a little somethin' into her drink for her but put it away when she wrinkled her nose. She was the good Vitarro, so he just laughed it off and gave her the soda. Her brothers were off makin' deals or hittin' on the pretty flappers in the club while she sipped the thin red straw and looked around with curious eyes, catchin' each pass of wadded cash and supposedly discreet deal being made. She'd grown up in this life; hell, she probably knew most of these guys as "uncles" from her childhood. All mobsters.

She shook her head, leaning back on the bar as she sat atop a stool. She lifted a hand to Louis who she saw sitting at a secluded balcony table with Claire across from him. He waved her up, but she shook her head returning to her drink and her people watching.

"Lyin' to me, Callie V? I'm hurt," came a familiar voice from her side.

She hid her smile and lifted a brow, turning to look at him. "Thought I told you to keep yourself empty of bullets, ‘bozzo."

He smiled at her and she felt that squirmin' in her stomach again. "Ain't no bullets gonna keep me away from you."

She sighed, hopping down from her stool. "Gotta feeling more than one might keep ya down."

He lifted a brow, chuckling. "Why don't you gimme a dance and we'll see just how many bullets I can take?" He stared at her seriously, eyes intense and dark.

She knew she should say no, should walk away and leave him there watchin', just like she usually did. Instead she put her drink down on the bar and her hands on her hips. "You think you can handle me, ‘bozzo? ‘Cause I think you're just a smooth talker than ain't got no real movies."

He reached out, tugged on one of her blonde curls before tucking it behind her ear. "I've got smooth moves, Callie V. And I'd be more than happy to share ‘em with ya."

Her breath stuttered a moment but she hoped the music covered it. And then his hand took hers and led her out to the middle of the dance floor, where she pleaded with God that the rest of the crowd might keep them hidden. Last thing she wanted was a dead Gambozzo on her hands... Especially _this_ Gambozzo.

Up on the balcony, watching his cousin with a sour look on his face, Louie sighed. "Girls' gonna get her and her boy killed," he muttered.

"He seems nice," Claire commented from next to him, sitting ram rod straight in her chair, looking a little out of place as she sipped her soda. "He definitely likes her." She lifted her brow, smiling slightly.

"Fuck, boy thinks she's the cat's pajamas. That ain't the problem. It's everybody else who don't think they're good for each other. Too much damn drama in this city." He snorted, stubbing out his cigarette. "Com'on Claire - show me some of them moves of yours on the dance floor."

She blushed, but took his hand, letting him lead her out to the floor, far away from the couple who were entirely involved with only each other.

A swinging jazz tune was blaring loudly from the main band and Ollie was quick to swing Callie out on the floor before pulling her back in. She let go, forgetting about all who could be watchin' and just let herself enjoy the music and the person she was dancin' to it with. He was a good dancer; real slick in all of his moves, but he always kept his eyes on hers, his hands in hers or touching her waist. There was a whole lot of flappers around that would gladly enjoy his attention, but he didn't look away from her, not once. Didn't even glance at their provocative dancing or sexier outfits.

She lost herself in his smile, returning one of her own. He swung her around and kept up through every song. He even tried the Charleston; he wasn't so great at it, but that was okay. The music just kept flowing and she could feel it from her head to her toes and every time her eyes caught his, she was even more captivated. That smile that she rarely saw turned in anybody else's direction grinned out at her broadly. His hands took hers, drawing her closer, and she felt her heart speed up while the song slowed down. The couples were more of swaying together now instead of jumping, arms waving. She felt his hand at her waist, the other one picking her hand up and holding it mid-air. He stared down at her, breathing a little heavy, but still smilin' like she just gave him the best gift.

"You still think I got no moves?" he wondered, lifting a brow.

She tried to frown at him. "I think you're using them on the wrong girl."

"I think I've always known who the right girl was..." He twirled her around before bring her in a little closer. "And I think you'll always be that girl to me Callie."

She swallowed tightly, willing her eyes away from his but they wouldn't move. She was caught up in the intense brown of his eyes, staring deeply into her own. He never made any secret about his affection; whole city probably knew. Just like it all knew that she never returned that attention. ‘Course it wasn't out of not feeling it. She'd liked him since she was just a little girl and the one time he managed to sneak a kiss, she'd just about decided right then she'd marry the fool. She hit him real good for his bold move though, when reality set in and she noticed her pop's guard watching from his car, eyes real thinned, cigar smoke comin' from his mouth. And she knew, no matter how young and innocent Ollie might'a been then, he was gonna get himself killed over her.

He was stubborn though, kept at it all through high school and continued to chase after her even after graduation. He was sneakier now; made sure none of her pop's guards saw him. He seemed too preoccupied with her to worry about just who might see them then though and while some part of her screamed that she should stop him for his own good, the majority of her just wanted it to happen. So when he leaned in, lips slanting across hers, she didn't push him away or punch him. She just sighed, parting her lips with content and feeling his tongue tangle with her own. She was new to kissing, a little worried she'd mess it up somehow, but the second she felt his lips against hers, she felt instinct take over. Her hand slid from his shoulder to wrap around the back of his neck, squeezing lightly.

She couldn't hear the music anymore, or the clatter of the rest of the club. It was just them, pressed tight together, connected at the mouth, where their breath mingled and their lips slanted and their tongues danced. She felt his hand slide up from her waist, stroking her shoulder for a moment before finally cupping her cheek, thumb gently caressing the apple of her cheek. His fingers flexed, weaving in her hair. Her eyes opened and so did his, but they didn't part right away, their lips still pressed together, panting harshly. She felt her heart well up in her throat and the whole of her body seemed to be trembling with warmth. He kissed her once more, short but lingering and then he took a step back, hands slowly falling from her face.

"Meet me tonight," he asked her.

She chewed her lip, knowing she should say no. "Where?" she said instead.

He smiled slowly. "Middle of Baker's bridge." He stepped backward, into the crowd. "One hour."

She licked her lips, hand falling to her waist. "I'll see if I can fit you into my schedule, ‘bozzo."

He grinned, winking at her before he turned around, disappearing into the crowd.

She sighed, shaking her head. What was she _thinkin'_? She left the club not so long later, askin' Vinny to drive her home. Her dad was having a "meeting" in his office; she could hear the bang of things being thrown and the muffled shouting. Her mom was already in bed and so she easily snuck upstairs into her bedroom, closing the door tightly before leaning against it, closing her eyes and questioning her sanity. She shouldn't do this. She should just let him wait at the bridge for her, knowing she stood him up. And then maybe he'd leave her alone, finally, and they'd both be better off for it. But then her heart clenched and she knew she just couldn't do it.

She searched her closet for something warmer to wear and sat on her bed for the majority of the time, weighing the pros and cons until she was nearly bowled over by a headache. She took a breath, glanced at her door, knowing that everybody would be distracted by her dad and his business; they wouldn't even know she left. After a minute of warring with herself again, she climbed out her window and down the trellis. She landed easily on the ground, heels deep in the small garden her mom was planting. She climbed out, glanced around and noticed a few cars parked out front. She bent low and ran across the side lawn, hopping up and crawling over the fence without a problem. She used to sneak out and go over to Louie's when she was younger, just to get away from all the work her dad was doing downstairs. This had more fear attached to it though, because she knew she wasn't going to Louie's and if anybody found that out, she was probably a dead girl walkin'.

Getting to the bridge didn't take long, but she hid behind a light pole, watching to see if he was really there. For a second she was actually worried he might stand her up. The fact that she never considered it might be a trap said more to her than she wanted to know. But there he was, leaning back against the rail of the walkway, staring out at the river that ran beneath the bridge, dark and majestic. A cigarette hung from his lips, smoke trailing up into the night sky. She just watched for a second, her stomach tightening. She should turn back. He could get killed over this!

But her feet started walking and before she knew it, she was standing next to him on the bridge, leaning back, eyes wandering over the water with veiled ease.

"Wasn't sure you'd come," he told her.

"Are you callin' me a coward, ‘bozzo?" she asked, turning toward him with a lifted brow.

He grinned. "You're the farthest thing from a coward." He shook his head. "Just didn't think you'd ever give in to me."

"Let's get one thing, straight. I ain't givin' in. I'm simply meeting you on a bridge late at night because I have an incredibly curious nature." She lifted a shoulder, crossing her arms over her chest.

He smiled, nodding before he took a long drag of his cigarette and then tossed it into the river. He held out a hand for her, licking his lips. "You wanna take a walk with me, Callie? Sate that curiosity of yours."

She swallowed tightly before putting her hand in his, feeling a warmth spread through her body. He turned them toward the park on the other side of the bridge and started walking, their hands entwined between them. She felt his thumb stroking her palm and shivered, blaming it on the breeze. The moon was high and the streets were vacant. She wondered how many times she'd thought of moments like this when she was a little girl, wishing life could be just a little different.

"You didn't have any trouble getting out?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I've done it a few times before. Pretty easy, really. Pops was busy with a few... clients." She frowned, licking her lips. "Long as I'm back before morning, he won't even notice I left." She glanced up at him. "What about you? Your brother gonna notice you haven't come back yet?"

He shrugged. "Probably thinks I'm out with some flapper gettin' fresh."

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "I haven't ever seen you with a girl, ‘bozzo."

"Too busy chasin' you," he replied, voice deep. He looked over at her but she refused to give in and look at him, she knew she'd get caught up in that gaze of his and lose herself entirely. "You'd think after nearly a decade, you'd know I only wanted you."

"And I'd think after a decade you would get fed up with all your chasin' and no reward," she replied, brows lifting.

He chuckled. "There was a reward. Long time comin', but it was..." He nodded, hand squeezing hers. "You ever kissed anybody before then, Callie V?"

She felt a flush at her cheeks and cleared her throat. "You think anybody could get past Vinny?" she replied.

"I think if you wanted to kiss somebody, you would'a done it. You got your ways. You're just as sneaky as you need to be." His fingers shifted in hers, caressing her hand. "I think you were waitin' for the right moment, right guy..."

"And that's you?" She lifted a brow, turning her head to look up at him. "That confidence of yours never dulls."

He smirked. "Took me ten years to get here... I think I'm derservin' of a little arrogance."

She rolled her eyes, turning to look forward once more, eyes wandering over the shadowed trees that lined the path they were following. "Gonna take you another ten, you don't quit with it."

He laughed. "That's why I like you. You're outspoken and quick and..." He stopped, tugging on her hand until she turned to face him. "I liked you when you were just a little girl in pigtails with a scowl that was supposed to make everybody leave you alone. You didn't want them gettin' close ‘cause you knew what your pops was capable of. You put up this wall, tryin' to keep me and every other kid from gettin' to know the real you. But you were so... _nice_ when you let it down. You have this kind heart, Callie. Like when you tried to save that chipmunk that'd been mangled up real bad. Or when you beat up Joey Hicks ‘cause he was pickin' on one of the younger kids." He smiled. "You ain't never been afraid to take on the world and the you I know... The you that shared her lunch with the kids who didn't have any. Who stole my cookie from me when she realized it had peanuts in it... Who thought more of my life than her own for the last ten years... _That_ is the girl I have been chasin' after all this time. _That_ is the girl that keeps me awake all night, hopin' she might just talk to me a little longer; might just smile at me one of her infamous Callie V grins."

She tried to look away, tried to act indifferent, but she couldn't. "You're gettin' in way over your head, ‘bozzo," she murmured.

"Maybe you're worth it." His hand tightened in hers and she found herself leaning in, stepping closer. His fingers stroked her hair from her face, tracing her cheek. "I _know_ you're worth it." When his lips met hers again, she realized there wasn't any going back.

For the next few weeks, she snuck out her window pretty much every single night. She'd meet him on the bridge and they'd go for a walk or she'd jump her fence to find him sitting in his car, waiting for her and she'd hop in the passenger seat. She found redemption with him; the ability to speak about all that was happening in her house without feeling like he might prosecute her for her pop's doings. He lived the life but he didn't want to, just like her. They had familial obligations, but they wanted nothing more than to walk away from all things mob-related. Even if they were poor and just livin' in a little shack of a place, they didn't care. It didn't feel right. Knowing that good people were gettin' killed so their families could live off their blood money. She believed in right and wrong; that justice should be served, even to those who think they're above the law. She couldn't count how many times her dad got out of prison time because of a mistrial, forced by him and his boys leanin' on the jury or the judge.

Ollie was the same. His brother was a bloodthirsty gangster that didn't so much as flinch when he slit the throat of a child or a mother or a whole family. He admitted he couldn't believe he was related to Frank sometimes; they were just so different. But Ollie couldn't say anything, couldn't do anything, because he knew his brother would turn on him too. And if he had nothin' else to live for, he had her. He loved his brother, he was all he had left out of his family, but he wasn't a killer. He'd never pulled the trigged on an innocent, never gutted anybody until they bled out on the floor. He was the good brother; the man who was forced to stand by and watch, repulsed by what he saw. He played the image well, kept it up for the people to see, but he was a good man when he wasn't standing next to Frank. He was funny and kind and downright charming.

Some nights, they'd just lie on the hood of his car and stare at the stars. She'd cuddle up to his chest, arms around his waist and head tucked under his chin. As the weeks passed, their kissing led into petting and she found herself frustrated by all that was and all that wasn't. She loved the feel of his hands touching her, but it was always over her clothes. He kissed her neck, her face, even her fingertips, but she wanted more. She'd fallen for him, hard, and while she knew that one of these days it was all going to end, she wanted to experience the most with him. She pushed the notions that eventually they'd have to part right out of her head and she let herself be swept away by the heat that flared up between them from the smallest of touches or the briefest of looks.

One night started just like it had any other for the last few weeks. She escaped through her window, crouched as she ran across the lawn, hopped the fence and walked down just a little to find him sitting in his car, waiting for her. They drove out to the park, cutting the engine in a secluded place shrouded by trees. Not many came to the park this late, probably wasn't safe, she supposed. Being the daughter of a mob boss and currently sitting with the brother of another gangster, she wasn't so scared though. Instead of getting out of the car, she slid into the backseat, tugging on his arm until he did the same.

She lifted her hand, traced odd little shapes on the ceiling as she lost herself in her head.

"I'm thinkin' we should leave town," he told her, voice deeper than usual.

She turned her head, lifting a brow. "Yeah? Where you think we should go? ‘Cause the arms of the mob reach far, Ollie and the second they realize we're together, they ain't gonna be pullin' us back for no congratulations."

He frowned. "So we go farther." He lifted a shoulder. "Can't do this anymore, Callie. He killed his best friend yesterday. Terry Two Fingers is currently being "disposed" of as we speak." He swallowed tightly. "I knew Terry since I was like five. He was practically a brother to me. And he was a good guy. Maybe a little crooked, but he was good." He licked his lips. "Frank kills too easily. Kill a man for lookin' at him the wrong way. I knew this, always have, but... But Terry? I mean that's..." He sighed, lifting a hand to rub at his face. "How long before he starts lookin' at me, starts wonderin' why I'm not pullin' any triggers or buryin' any bodies."

"So you wanna run... We run, they'll chase us. Nobody turns their back on the mob, Ollie. Especially family." She bit her lip. "We go, we're dead."

"We _stay_ , we're dead," he replied.

She closed her eyes, wished there was an easy answer, but there wasn't one. She felt his hand on her cheek, fingers stroking gently. Her breath left her slowly and her eyes reopened to look at him. He gave away so much through his eyes. "It's worth it, right?"

His fingers traced the plains of her face, the bridge of her nose, the curve of her lips. "Very worth it."

She swallowed before leaning over, pressing her lips to his and threading her fingers in his hair. Often slicked back, the blonde strands became disarrayed between her fingers. She slipped her leg over him, straddling his waist. His hands found her waist, squeezing her hips before gentling up her back, fingers kneading at her through her dress.

She could feel the faint scratch of his whiskers against her chin and her breath stuttered. His hands slid over her shoulders and down her arms, coming to a stop at the crook of her elbow. She took his hand, placed it against her thigh and then opened her eyes to look at him. Together, their hands slid beneath her dress, fingers caressing her thigh atop her stocking. She flicked the clip with her thumb until it came loose, letting the material roll down her leg with ease. He swallowed, staring at her with furrowed brows. She continued to kiss him, suckling his lower lip, nipping it lightly. She let her other hand fall from his hair and curved it up behind her back, taking the zipper of her dress and drawing it down.

She could hear his breathing becoming harsh but his eyes never strayed from hers, not even as she shrugged her shoulders from her dress, let it pool at her waist. She smiled at him. "You can look," she told him.

He smiled shakily, eyes falling, taking in her bra covered breasts, the creamy white skin revealed. And then her fingers were lifting toward the clasp of her bra, but his hand stopped her, fingertips stroking her skin, along her spine. She shivered, eyes falling to half mass as he kissed her more desperately, deeper now, drawing the breath right out of her. He fumbled with the clasp but got it undone. His hands found her shoulders, slowly slid the straps down her arms and she shrugged the cups from her breasts until she felt the cool air whisper against her. She bit her lip, eyes falling down and then returning to look at him as he stared, brows lifted. One of his hands slid from her shoulder, his forefinger trailing down her chest slowly and then she felt the back of his hand running over the curve of her breast, the knuckles rough against her skin in a most tantalizing way.

As he cupped her, she hissed slightly, head falling back. He glanced at her for a moment, a little worried, but then returned his attention to her mound, thumb running circles around her pale pink nipple. Her arm wrapped around his shoulder, fingers burying in his hair, holding tight as he explored. Together, both of his hands massaged her breasts slowly and then a little more roughly as she whimpered and arched into him. He kissed her neck, lips warm and familiar against her skin. She let her eyes close, enjoying every sensation he brought. His lips fell lower, grazing her collar before suckling at the top of her breasts and down through the valley, until finally she felt the heat of his mouth around her, tongue flicking against the rosy center.

She jerked slightly, the juncture of her thighs pressing against him and felt his guttural moan vibrate through her, his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh. She licked her lips, eyes fluttering and forced her fingers not to pull too hard on his hair. She shifted her hips side to side, pushing her dress lower so it wasn't so constricting. Easily, she rolled the unclasped stocking down her leg and tossed it away before turning her attention to the other. Her hands shook slightly as she undid it. She was nervous, a trait that rarely came out in her. Her stomach was full of butterflies and her heart was beating wildly in her chest.

Ollie's hand slid around her back, running up the curve as she arched into his mouth. As the second stalking was dropped to the floor, she felt the leather of the cold seat beneath her knees. He'd switched breasts and she found herself distracted more than once by the feeling of his warm tongue tasting her. Her fingers found the front of his shirt, sliding the buttons from their holes with ease, focusing her mind on something so small rather than on the grand scheme of things. His chest was broad, hard and beautiful, she found. Slim waist, muscled stomach, hard upper torso... She let her hands wander over it, fingers delving in the creases of his abdomen as it flexed beneath her touch. She tugged the sleeves from his shoulders, revealing his defined biceps. She decided he was physically perfect in every way; every plain of his face, every angle of his body... She wanted to kiss all of it like he was her. She felt his lips along her ribs, nose grazing her as he kissed her stomach. His arm slid beneath her, lifting her up higher as he continued his perusal of her waist and hips and up her sides.

Her hand squeezed the back of his neck lightly and he lifted his head, looking up at her with dark eyes and a strained look of pleasure on his face. She kissed him, tangling her tongue with his own while she let her hand slide down between them, fingers trailing over his abdomen before they found the buckle of his pants. She could feel the bulge there, straining his trousers and it made her insides jolt. He wanted her; of all the women in the city, hell, in the  _world_ , he wanted  _her_. Little Callie V - the untouchable.

One of his rough hands cupped her cheek as their mouths slanted together, the heat palpable. She managed to get the zipper down and slid her hand inside, cupping him in the confines of his still tight pants. He jerked against her, moaning into her mouth, panting as their lips parted. "Callie," he choked out, eyes opening. "You sure?"

"I wouldn't be doing it if I weren't sure," she replied softly.

He stared at her a moment and then he was nodding. "Figure I might have to marry you after this," he told her with a half-smile.

"You wish, ‘bozzo."

He laughed, but it caught in his throat as her fingers squeezed him. His head fell back, a guttural moan escaping his throat. She found herself excited knowing that she was the one making him feel so good. That it was her hand stroking him and rubbing at his hardness. Inwardly, she felt a little fear in her chest. She'd heard about the mechanics of love making from the likes of Louie, or in crude jokes from her pop's boys. But she hadn't been near any boy long enough for it to get that far. Point in fact, Ollie was her first kiss, meaning he was in for a whole slew of her firsts.

She tried to preoccupy herself by watching the emotions flicker across his face. How his jaw tensed and his throat tightened, how his teeth ground together and his fingers dug into her before soothing the harsh grip with the soft stroke of his thumbs. She watched his eyes flutter, long dark lashes brushing the tanned skin of his cheek. She licked her lips and while still keeping her hand rubbing him, she leaned forward and kissed just below his eye, where those beautiful lashes of his had just danced. Slowly, she kissed down his cheek, her lips smoothing over the plains of his face carefully, as if memorizing him, until they ghosted to the left, across his mouth. And as subdued as he'd been for those few minutes, simply enjoying her touch and kisses, he was ten times as responsive, capturing her mouth and tangling their tongues fiercely.

He tasted warm and intoxicating, but in a good way. Not like how she felt after knocking back a few shots of her pop's illegal stash when her and Louie were hanging out. This was heady and made her tingle from head to toe with awareness rather than absence. She could feel him getting harder beneath her grip and wondered how it was his trousers could even contain him any longer. She wiggled her hips, feeling a wet heat between her thighs that was quick becoming a priority. She felt his hands at her hips sliding lower, taking her dress with it until she was instinctively lifting up on her knees, letting him draw it down over her bottom, fingers grasping her panties as well. Leg by leg, she was freed from the restraint of her clothes and found herself entirely bare; never before had she felt so emotionally naked with anyone.

His hands slid up the back of her thighs, creating a warm buzz there that made her bite her lip, her eyes falling to half mass as she stared at him. He stared right back, almost waiting for her to put the breaks on everything. She was the one who stopped them from being together all this time, she was the one who called the shots. And it was unbelievably comforting to know that in the end, should she say she didn't want to anymore, he would let her get redressed, sitting uncomfortably next to her, playing the good guy she knew he was. It would be painful to stop, but he'd do it. Because he cared enough not to push her, not to risk losing her. She'd never known that kind of devotion. Some part of her always knew that in the end, her pops would probably sacrifice her if the need arose. But Ollie never would; hadn't in all this time.

"I-I've never..." she trailed off, eyes widening slightly. She didn't often show anything but confidence in front of anyone and weakness in front of him made her feel anxious. But then he was smiling at her, eyes warm and all she felt was comfort. That it was  _him_  her first time was with.

He lifted a hand, brushing her blonde hair from her cheek and behind her ear. "It's only ever been you for me, Callie. You think I been with any girls before?"

She swallowed tightly. How did he do that? Make her feel like she was so much more than what she was. Like she was somethin' to be adored rather than just admired from afar. She couldn't see what he saw; she just knew that he looked at her, touched her, talked to her as if she was a queen. Instead of answering, she kissed him, thoroughly. Fingers threading in his hair, gripping tight, mouth slanting over his with fierce possessiveness. She decided then and there that she was keeping the bozo and that was it.

Despite having no background of being intimate with anybody, they caught on real quick to what felt good and what didn't. While stroking one of her thighs, he slid the other up to her slit, skimming her wet folds with the tip of his finger. She jerked, eyes fluttering, breath catching. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath, wanting to glare at him as he chuckled. But she couldn't think of doing anything more than kissing him when he stroked her again, fingers probing her wet heat curiously, making her twinge and clench and a coil of tension to build up in the pit of her stomach. Her hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into his broad, muscled back. She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest, so warm against her cool skin. As his fingers continued to touch her, she let her head fall to the side, mouth attaching to his neck, while her hands slid lower, parting his pants further, pushing at them until he lifted his waist and let her push them down. Finally, he was just as bare as she was and her breath caught as she stared at the hard length she'd been stroking all this time.It was even bigger to her eyes and oddly beautiful. In a way she couldn't quite describe.

She could feel her wet heat coating her inner thighs and while she enjoyed his touch, she wanted more of him, all of him. She nipped his jaw before lifting her head, her heart racing in her chest. She caught his eyes, their noses grazing as she raised her head to his level. Knowingly, his fingers slid away, hands finding her hips. She could feel his body tensing with anticipation against her and she smiled slightly, shakily. He drew her closer until she felt her nipples rubbing against his hard chest and groaned deep in her throat. She saw it there in his eyes, the words he probably couldn't get past the clench of his jaw. " _We don't have to do this_."

And in answer, she lowered herself, feeling him slowly enter her. She felt her insides stretch to accommodate his girth and her teeth bit down on her lip harshly. His fingers bit into her hips as she slowly enveloped him, feeling the tear inside of her and nearly letting out a sob, but pushing it down. She leaned forward just enough to bury her face against his throat and felt his hands slid up her back, fingertips digging in as he gasped against her hair. "Callie?" he panted and she knew what he was asking.  _You okay_?

She nodded slightly, eyes closed tight against the tears and then she grit her teeth and gathered up all her courage and forced herself down all the way, until she was filled to bursting with him. "Oh god," he groaned, his arms wrapped tight around, embracing her in comfort and intimacy. It burned and ached, but there was something incredible about being connected to him this way. Something utterly fascinating about knowing that he was  _inside_ of her, that he was  _part_ of her that very moment. She wiggled only slightly, trying to get used to the invasion, to feel more of the good feelings that she were hidden behind the throb. He whimpered as she moved, a sound so unbelievably honest that she nearly let that sob out still caught in her throat.

Instead she sucked up the burn of her tears and sat back only slightly. His arms loosened, letting her move back, but she felt them flex against her as she moved once more. She could see how tense the corded muscles of his body were as he tried to stay still. She wasn't completely naïve; she knew it must be killing him not to just take her. She felt her heart skip a beat and a shaky smile slid across her lips. She leaned forward once more, pressed her lips against his, soft and tender and then she gyrated her hips, lifting herself up off of him. He sighed against her lips, whether it was in pleasure or agony, she didn't know. She rose until he was nearly entirely out of her and then lowered herself once more, trying to find a rhythm. His hands helped, turning her hips and helping her as he lifted his own, thrusting up into her slow and deep.

She bit her lip still, trying to get past that last bit of ache that seemed to force the incredible pleasure away. He felt so good, so hard, so  _deep_  inside of her. When she felt his mouth surround her nipple, the last vestige of anything  _not_ pleasure was gone. His hands seemed to be everywhere; caressing her skin from the tips of her toes to the nape of her neck. His fingers were long, the tips rough, his palms calloused and creating a wonderful sensation against her soft, creamy skin. He traded breasts, kissing the white mound, teasing her by not suckling her nipple. His teeth grazed her sensitive flesh, sending flashes of heat throughout her.

She found her own hands gripping him constantly; his forearms, biceps, sides, and shoulders. At one point, she had them tangled in his hair, tugging on it each time he drove into her a little harder, a little deeper. The windows of the car were becoming fogged, her skin shining with perspiration where before they'd been fanned with gooseflesh. He felt so hard beneath her, all of him. Every inch of him was made of muscle and tensed to perfection. She could feel his back flexing beneath her fingers as she held onto him, their pace picking up.

She leaned into him further, her breasts sliding against his chest with each thrust they made. He was kissing her collar now, up her neck and then down, tracing the ball of her shoulder with his lips. She found it fascinating how he could he filling her so quickly, the whole of him hard and needy, but his mouth was slow and tender against her. She could feel her insides quivering around him, gripping his hardness tightly. She could feel his fingers biting into her skin, could hear him groan each time she closed in around him. He was murmuring her name, almost pleadingly, as if he wanted more but couldn't take it.

One of his hands fell to her thighs, lifted it slightly, pulled her closer and then he was sliding against her clit with each thrust and she cried out, her body arching into him. Her hands fell to his sides, stroked them when her fingers weren't pressed tight against his ribs. It was all building up, even more pleasurable now, which she didn't think was possible. There were flashes of light beneath her eyes, bright and vivid colors that seemed to ricochet inside of her, filling her with their warmth. And then it hit its peak, the incredible high getting so much higher she could barely breathe. Her toes curled, the sob that hadn't escaped earlier, did now, and she tightened around him so much she didn't think he could move. But he did, filling her deeper, harder, with just three more thrusts, until he was there too. Her face was pressed against his neck, mouth open as she panted, eyes closed tight, her voice petering out on her cry.

All she could hear was her rapid heartbeat and his panting against her ear. Her body slowly relaxed, so much she could barely fathom moving. Everything seemed to be buzzing; her toes, her legs, even her hair. She let it. She enjoyed the peace, the odd sense of content that came with everything. She felt  _filled_ ; like some empty part her had finally found something to fit it. His hands slid up her slick back slowly, rubbing at her skin tenderly and drawing her even closer, until her entire torso was pressed against his, cuddled up to him, utterly satisfied. She felt him kiss her hair and smiled, hating that her eyes built with tears in that moment. She was a Vitarro, for God's sake, she was not gonna get sappy over this!

And then she sniffled.

His hands stopped against her back.

"Callie?" he asked, voice worried.

She winced. She should'a kept her stupid tears to herself. "It's nothing," she muttered.

He sighed, sounding more than a little frustrated. And then he turned his head down, his arms turning her easily until her face was directed at him. "You're cryin'," he muttered, as if she didn't know.

"I am not," she replied defiantly. "Sweat got in my eye is all."

He smiled that infuriatingly charming smile of her and she felt herself melt further into his arms. What was  _wrong_ with her? He brushed a strand of damp hair from her face, tracing her cheek with his finger. "I ain't gonna blame you if you cry." His mouth quirked at the side. "You need to, go ahead."

She half-chuckled, half sighed. "That's all you need. Some cryin' broad all over you."

He licked his lips. "Not just  _any_ broad."

She stared at him a moment, feeling emotion well up in her throat.  _This_ is why these moments made her so damn emotional - he was always gettig' so sentimental and sweet on her like that and she wasn't used to that stuff. "Oh ‘bozo," she sighed, shaking her head.

He grinned. "Only you could make that sound sweet, Callie V."

She rolled her eyes before resting her head against his shoulder again, hand falling to trace shapes over his abdomen. How'd a guy get this fit anyway? She wondered as her fingers slid across the contours of his muscled stomach. Hidden beneath those slick clothes and the confidence was a man to be awed at. Not that she'd ever tell him. He didn't need any confidence boost; he was flyin' high on all that arrogance of his already.

"I gotta get home soon," she murmured. Wouldn't be long before the sun started to rise up, forcing them back to the glare of their fake little lives.

"Still say we should run," he told her stiffly. Despite his tone, his fingers were running up and down her spine softly.

"We don't have nowhere to go, Ollie." She shook her head, closing her eyes.

"We could find a place," he murmured.

She didn't reply and they spent a long while just holding each other. She let her tears fall then and he didn't say anything as they dribbled down her cheeks and onto his chest. He just let her, held her as she shook and sniffled and couldn't make it stop. It all built up and the reality of everything couldn't be ignored any longer. She was so tired of going back and while she didn't admit it in so many words, she wished they  _could_ run away. She'd feel bad leavin' Louie, but he'd get on fine with Claire and he'd understand. He was just that type.

Finally, when she couldn't cry anymore, she pulled back, wiped at her face and picked up her clothes. He helped her dress, obstinately slow, as if he thought in the time it took for him to redress her, she might just change her mind and tell him to take her out of city limits, to keep on driving until there were somewhere else, anywhere but where they were. But she didn't. He drove extra slow too, held her hand in his lap, their fingers twined, and some part of her was screaming to tell him that they should go, that she wanted to and she'd face the consequences later. But then she'd look at his face and she knew that her pops would find him, gut him, and make her watch just to teach her a lesson. And she couldn't stand the thought of Ollie dead - not one little bit. So when he pulled up to the curb he always picked her up at, she leaned across, kissed him lingeringly and stroked his cheek fondly before drawing away.

Before she could get out the door, his voice stopped her though. "When are you gonna stop tryin' to keep me save, Callie?" Her throat tightened. "When are you just gonna let me love you without thinkin' of all the way it could go wrong?"

She turned back to him, voice stoic and resolve in place. "Never," she told him, shaking her head. "First second I start letting everything just be, it's gonna blow up in our faces. And I'd rather keep lookin' at that pretty mug of yours as long as I can." She smiled slightly. "We both know this ain't gonna well, Ollie. But we can try and prolong it."

He shook his head, turning his eyes away, his jaw twitching. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"Sometimes we don't have a choice," she murmured, stepping out of the car and closing the door behind her before he could say anything more. She walked down the sidewalk, hopped the fence and made her way to the trellis, climbing up it quickly, her mind so distracted she hadn't even noticed her light was on. But she would'a run straight back to Ollie's car if she'd known what was waitin' for her. She hadn't even gotten the window the whole way up before arms were dragging her through it, letting her fall to the floor with a thump. She grimaced at the carpet beneath her, eyes turning to the side to see the black leather shoes of her pop's many guards.  _Shit_.

"I'm gonna ask you this once, Callie girl, and I expect one very good answer," her father's booming voice filled the room, deep and angy.

She flinched.

"Where the  _fuck_ were you?"

She swallowed tightly, sitting up slowly, lifting her head, eyes glancing at the men around her, all looking solemnly away from her. "Out," she replied, voice steady despite how all of her shook.

Her father grunted and she cringed away as he stomped forward, looking ready to strike her for her retort. His hand rose and his face turned a nasty shade of urple but instead of hitting her, he threw his arm out and knocked everything from her nightstand sending it to the floor with a thunderous crash. She forced herself not to cover her ears or show weakness in front of him, he'd only use it against her. Instead she drew her legs up closer to herself and looked up at him from below her hair as it fell across her face.

"I been hearin' things, Callie," he told her, voice strained. "I been hearin' a lot of shit that I ain't never really believed until tonight." He shook his head, beginning to pace. "Few of my boys, they seen and heard things. They seen and heard these things about you and a certain rival of mine." He licked his lips, staring down at her a moment, as if waiting for her to reply, to tell him that it was untrue. When she didn't, he started screaming, "You betrayin' your father, Callie girl? That it? You runnin' ‘round with the Gambozzo brother? Huh?"

She shook her head and her eyes stung with tears again but these were more out of anger than anything else. How could he accuse her of that? Accuse her of  _betraying_ him when all she'd ever done was keep his secrets. She rejected friendships and normalcy just because she was  _his_ daughter and he didn't ever thank her for that, didn't think anything of the fact that her one and only friend was her cousin.

Taking a deep breath, she replied lowly, "It ain't like that, daddy." She shook her head, looking up at him, eyes rimmed red from her crying. "You know me. You know I wouldn't never betray you." Her voice went out on a hurt whisper.

"Yeah?" He shook his head, veins bulging at his throat. "Then what is it, huh? You think you  _love_ him?" Her face fell and he let out a cruel laugh. "You think he loves  _you_ , Callie girl?" He shook his head, waving his hands around. "He's just  _usin_ ' you to get at  _me_! Gonna wind up dead cause'a you. You get that?"

"No." She sniffled. She tried to look for some kind of explanation but all she could think of was how she was gonna warn Ollie that he had to get out of town, he had to run as far as he could get. Even if he only lasted a couple more days, he'd be okay for awhile at least. She stared up at her father defiantly. "He wants  _out_. He doesn't wanna be like his brother."

Her pops laughed at her, amused and cutting. He shook his head, glancing at his boys, expecting them to laugh too. Subdued, they did as they were expected. She wanted to hate them but she knew why. She knew that  _nobody_ ever undermined The Noose, not unless they wanted to a pair of cement shoes as their retirement gift. He turned back to her, face harsh once more, any trace of laughter gone. "They all say that!" he shouted. "Gets ‘em in real nice with the good girls. Makes ‘em think they're worth it." He shook his head, lip curling. "But you ain't nothin' to him, Callie! You ain't nothin' to _anybody_ but your pops! And you better remember that, girl!"

She flinched eyes falling. "You don't know him."

"I don't need to," he told her, waving his hand. "And you ain't gonna be seein' him anymore either, you understand?" He waited for her to reply and when she didn't, his foot flew out and nudged her leg so hard she nearly fell over. "Did you hear me?" he said louder.

"Yes! Yes, I understand," she replied, glaring up at him.

"Good." He shook his head. "I don't get you some days, Callie-girl," he muttered, sighing. "You ain't like your momma or any of your brothers. You got this spirit in you that ain't got no place in my family." He frowned at her, jaw twitching. "You're a Vitarro and you gotta start actin' like one, you get me?"

She nodded, her throat tightening. She felt like a prisoner; like he owned her somehow. All ‘cause she was born into the wrong family. It wasn't right.

Tony lifted his hand, waved for his boys to leave and she breathed a little easier knowing that it was just him. He didn't yell as loud when his boys weren't around. When the door closed, he pulled out a cigar and lit it up, standing a few feet from her, staring down with thinned, suspicious eyes. After taking a long drag, he walked closer and bent down toward her; this close, he almost looked like a regular dad. Minus the expensive cigar and the suit he was wearing. He must'a been up real late for one of his  _meetings_ for him to still be dressed and wide awake.

"Why you gotta do this, Callista?" he asked her, brow furrowed. "A Gambozzo? That's like a knife to the heart for your old pops," he told her, pressing a curled fist against his chest.

She shook her head, her eyes turning off. "He's a good man," she whispered, her chin quivering. "He's not like his brother."

Her father sighed. "He could be the fuckin' pope, Callie." He patted her knee. "In the end, he's Frank's brother, which means he ain't never gonna touch you again. He ain't even gonna look atcha. And if he does, I'm puttin' that boys head in a box and sendin' it to his brother as a reminder of why the Gambozzo's are  _nothing_." He stood up, looking over her with the expression of a mob boss, any fatherly connection gone. "And if you ever,  _ever_ go against my word again..." He shook his head, lips thinned in a line before he turned and left, leaving nothing but a cloud of cigar smoke in his wake and a daughter that was shaking from head to toe.

She sat in the same spot for nearly twenty minutes, trying to reason out all the ways this could end. She knew Ollie; she knew what he'd do in the end too. He was stubborn - last eight years against her apparent dislike for him proved that - and he was too damn resourceful for his own good. He'd end up finding her, some way, some how, and before she even knew it, they'd be crossing state boarders in his car, lookin' over their shoulders every few minutes, waiting for their families to be right on their tail, ready to gut them and send ‘em over the bridge to meet the river face to face. She sniffled, wiping at her face furiously and stood up from her floor, angry that a night that should've been incredible, should've been one to remember for good reasons, had been ruined entirely.

She couldn't feel his touch anymore, couldn't revel in the scent that was all him. She couldn't lay in her bed and think of how good it felt to be in his arms or feel his bare skin beneath her cheek. It was over; all of it. And she had to tell him before he went and got himself killed. She walked across her room, hit the light and watched out her window to see who might be around. Most of her dad's boys were gone; it was too late for them to be loitering around. The next shift would be arriving soon. Vinny was fast asleep on the steps out front, his gun going ignored, falling to the stair beside him. She gathered up her resolve and climbed out her window, just as she had for three weeks before that. As soon as she was on the sidewalk, she felt better about it all. Her stomach wasn't screaming with protest, telling her she was about to get caught, about to see the full force of her father's anger.

She wrapped her arms around herself and hurried her steps. She still didn't know how she was gonna get a message to Ollie, not unless she hid out near his place and waited for him to come out. That just seemed like suicide though. She tried to figure it out in her head as she walked, entirely too caught up in all the scenarios she could come up with that she didn't even hear the car pull up near her. She did, however, feel the hands at her arms and over her mouth right before she was dragged, kicking and screaming into a car she knew by sight. The men holding her laughed as she squirmed and fought, trying to get out of their hold. The driver sped up; taking the curves quickly until they were venturing into a part of town she wasn't allowed to set foot in. She knew which house she was going to; it was the equal of her pop's place, only for the opposite side of town.

Frank "Cutthroat" Gambozzo's place.

Her heart nearly beat right outta her chest. Well, at least now she didn't have to worry about getting there. She was being handed over on a platter to her pop's worst enemy.

She was too scared to speak as they drug her out of the car and up the stairs to the house, the doors being thrown wide open. Her knees scraped against the floor as she tripped and they didn't bother slowing for her to catch her footing again. She was thrown to the floor in front of a pair of shoes that much resembled her father's and she felt a wave of déjà vu wash over her. She looked up slowly, swallowing tightly as she stared Frank in the face, a sinister smile creasing his mouth.

She heard the doors behind her close with a bang and sat back, trying to look indifferent to the situation. She was dead - ain't no point in giving them satisfaction over it.

He grinned at her. "Look at her, eh boys? A real fuckin' tough one, uh?" He shook his head before turning and clapping his hands together. "Where's my brother? Didn't I tell you meatheads to get his ass up and outta bed? We gotta guest he needs to be reacquainted with," he said, sneering back at her. He lifted a hand, slicking back his blond hair. "Ollie!" he shouted loudly. "We have company, brother. Don't be rude!"

Within seconds, Callie heard the bang and rustle and lifted her head to see Ollie being forced down the stairs, arms pulled behind his back tightly. The guy beside him had a broken nose, blood dribbling down his chin as he looked over to the younger Gambozzo brother warily while his partner pushed Ollie into walking down the stairs. As he reached the bottom, Frank's arm rose, circling his brother's shoulder and pulling him closer, making him walk with him as they approached Callie who was trembling on the floor but staring up with a fearless mask covering her face, cracking with each step that Ollie took closer to her. His eyes never left hers and she could see his chest rising and falling quicker, his jaw twitching like it did when he was angry.

"Look who came to visit, Ol?" his brother said, close to his face. "Your pretty little girlfriend." His lip curled. "When were you gonna bring her home, huh? Introduce her to the family?" He shook his head. "That's rude, Ol. Keepin' her from me like that." He turned his head to the side, staring at him with cold eyes, but Ollie refused to look at him, just kept staring at her. " _What_ were you  _thinking_?" he screamed, his face turning a bright shade of red and veins bulging at his neck and temples. Spittle sprayed against Ollie's cheek, which flinched in reaction but the rest of him didn't move an inch.

Frank stepped away from him, running a hand over his face and blowing out a stressed breath. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do about you, brother." He shook his head. "I mean I knew you were sweet on the girl. Had been since you was what..." He laughed. "Twelve, right?" He smirked disgustingly. "Got a kiss and a punch to the nose if I remember right." He nodded, rubbing his hand against his chin. "But you kept at it, kept at her." He turned, staring at Callie a minute. "I mean I get it, man. She's... A real looker, huh?" He licked his lips, eyes thinning. "Bet she's real tight between the legs, too, eh boys?" he called out, getting laughter from the group of men surrounding them. But his own laugh was cut short when Ollie's first connected with his face, sending him back a few steps in shock, his hand raising to his bruised and bleeding mouth.

Two of Gambozzo's boys were holding Ollie back before he could go after him again, but she could see in his face that he wanted to tear his brother apart.

Frank spat a gob of blood on the floor, wiping at his chin with the back of his arm, staining his white shirt sleeve before he stepped forward once more, this time looking more murderous than anything. "Where's your  _fuckin_ ' head at?" he spat, jaw twitching in a way that much resembled his younger brother. He pointed to Callie without looking. "She ain't nothin', you get that? She's just a pair of tits and a nice smile. That's all any girl is. You think you got something in her, you wait ‘til her pops asks her where she been spending all her nights. Soon as she says your name, he's gonna have you chokin' on water!" he yelled before reaching out, hand gripping Ollie's throat tightly. "You wanna quick fuck, Ol, I could'a shown you a handful of girls who would'a opened their legs so quick, you wouldn't know what to do with that dick of yours. But you just had to go after the one girl - the  _one_ girl, Ollie - that you can't have no  _fuckin'_ contact with." He shook his head, fingers tightening at Ollie's throat, cutting off his air. "She worth that?"

With a quickly reddening face, Ollie managed to nod around his brother's tight grip and within seconds it was gone. The hand fell and Frank nodded to the others to release him until he was standing shakily, gasping for air. He turned his head, glancing at her, and she saw that same expression in his eyes that she saw a million times before _._ The one that really did make her feel like she was worth something; if only to him.

Frank circled him a moment, nodding, expression strained. He looked caught between laughing and screaming. Finally he reached out, grabbed Ollie by his hair and pulled his head back. "You wanna die for her, Ollie?" he asked. "You think this Vitarro girl is worth your life?"

"I  _know_ she's worth it," Ollie managed to choke out.

Frank nodded and a second later, he plunged a long knife right into Ollie's stomach.

"Nooooo!" Callie screamed, eyes widening in shock. Ollie stumbled, hand falling to his gut before he finally fell to the floor. She was already scrambling to get to him; the tears that had been building up finally poured over, streaking down her cheeks. He looked up at her, breathing heavily as she lifted his head and placed it in her lap, stroking his cheek. She shook her head, noticing how quickly the blood stained through his shirt, spreading over his stomach and pooling against the floor at his side.

In the background she heard the screech of tires and the banging of doors closing. She paid no attention however as the front doors were thrown open and Gambozzo's boys began backing up, guns drawn as her pops and his men swarmed in side, armed to the nines and looking pissed as hell. She continued to look at Ollie, stroking his hair and shaking her head. "I told you," she gasped, sniffling. "I told you I'd get you dead."

He smiled slightly, eyes wrinkled at the sides. "B-Barely hurts," he managed.

She snorted, shaking her head. "Do  _not_ try to play some kinda martyr right now, Ollie."

He lifted a brow. His breathing was shallowing out. "I woulda..." He licked his lips, eyes drooping and skin paling. She shook him slightly, terrified that he was really gonna die. She couldn't lose him; she couldn't. "I woulda done it all... again," he told her, looking up at her with those same soft brown eyes and encouraging smile. His hand lifted, fingers finding a tendril of her hair. "You were meant... to be mine... Callie V." He inhaled air shakily, swallowing tightly. "And I got you... I got you."

She nodded, her tears blurring her vision as she stared down at him. "You got me, Ollie."

"Call me... ‘bozzo," he told her.

She laughed brokenly.

"I'm your ‘bozzo."

She nodded, bending to kiss his forehead. "That's right."

His hand fell from her hair and found her own, their fingers entwining.

And then all the noise in the background invaded her ears once more. There was a war happening around them, right there in the foyer of Frank Gambozzo's house. She'd had enough of it. Twenty years she'd been living this war and this is where it got her. Despite Ollie's wound and that she knew there was no way he was gonna make it, all she could think about was getting him somewhere safe, getting him out of the line of fire. He was still breathing, still stroking her palm with his thumb, and she never wanted it to stop.

She felt fingers in her hair and then her head was pulled back tight, her neck straining. She looked up, already knowing who had her and caught the sadistic smile on Frank's face as he grinned over at her father.

"Think of it as a favor, Vitarro," Frank shouted. The same knife that had sliced Oliver open appeared and she didn't even have to gasp before it slid across her neck, slicing her open quick and easy. "She was a fuckin' whore. No Vitarro bitch is gettin' in my family. You hear me? You get me Vitarro?" he screamed, echoing all around her.

She felt the blood sliding down her throat, felt her lungs struggle for air but as hard as she tried to inhale, it never came. And then she felt herself slipping away; no air, quickly depleting blood, she was just as dead as Ollie was.

"You're a dead man, Gambozzo," she heard her father yell viciously.

Callie V laid her head down on Ollie's unmoving chest and closed her eyes. Sound drifted away and all that was left was his hand in hers. Ain't no Romeo and Juliet ending, but she figured dying for a good man who loved her was better than living for a bad man who owned her.

The bullets flew, the blood was shed, a full blown war was waged all around, and not once during the scuffle was a lesson learned. It was just their way of life; there was living and dying, money and greed. But a love like theirs was never truly seen by anyone but Ollie and his Callie V.


	8. The Hero and His Watchtower (1/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very much in love with fellow Justice Leaguer, Chloe Sullivan, Oliver Queen must convince her to take a chance on him and love once more, but not all the drama is connected to the heart

******Part 8A** : _The Hero and His Watchtower_

He was running, from what he didn't know. But his feet were bare, his body agile and his skin as dark as mud from spending a lifetime in the sun. All he saw was green; his surroundings that of a jungle he'd never been to in his life. Even the ground with its mossy dirt and wild vines were the deepest shade of green he'd ever seen. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, pumping loudly. His breath was moving in and out of him fluidly, without real strain. There was a tingle in his skin; anticipation. His feet were bare, but he felt very little pain as they smashed down hard against rocks and brush and broken branches. He easily jumped a fallen tree, his body twisting and turning, the corded muscles stretching and relaxing as if he'd run this same journey a million times.  
  
There was a clearing ahead and if he listened hard, he could hear humming. As he broke through the hanging vines, his eyes settled on _her_ , so at ease with his sudden appearance. She looked up from her kneeling position on the ground and for some reason, unknown to him, he expected to see tears but didn't. He stood still, simply staring at her, as if she were a long lost lover of some sort, as if it'd been years since he'd last seen that face of hers. But he'd only just seen her yesterday, hadn't he? She looked different in the jungle surroundings, with the heated sun beating down on her strongly. Her hair shone and her green eyes rivaled the lush surroundings with their intensity.

He stepped closer slowly, some part of him wanting to run until he was holding her, as if afraid that he'd lose her in those few precious seconds, those few steps that separated them. And then he was there, his legs which had formerly been so strong, so stable, gave out and he fell to his knees in front of her. Now there were tears in her eyes and her hands lifted, touching his face lightly, tracing the plains as if in reminiscence of times long lost.

"The jungle waited for us," she told him, in a language he didn't expect to understand but did, perfectly. She stroked the side of his face before letting her fingers draw down his neck and explore his shoulder, brushing faintly along the plains of his chest before she let her palm press right over his heart, which he found still hadn't slowed from his run. Or perhaps it was just how close she was that kept his heart pounding so rapidly. "It still beats faster when I touch you."

His breathing became shallow; there was a voice in his head, telling him this was _important_ somehow. That all of this was not simply a dream but that it meant something.

Her fingers felt so warm against his bare skin and he relished in her touch, leaned further into it. His head tipped, their foreheads touching. She turned those vivid eyes up to him and he could hardly breathe with what he saw there. Her free hand fell, took hold of his and lifted it, bringing it higher until it was hovering just between them. She drew away from his chest and he immediately missed the contact, only to feel his throat tighten as her hand rose to draw down the animal hide that covered her beautiful body from him. It loosened, slipping slowly downward. "I will show you my heart beats just as quick," she murmured.

His fingers twitched, waiting to touch her, to feel that heartbeat as fast as his own. There was a wave of déjà vu that encompassed each movement, each word. An intensity that clutched at him, telling him to remember, to understand. And just as the cloth would fall to reveal her to him, to let his hand embrace the heart that beat as his own, he was shaken heavily and felt her fade from his view. Only one word escaped his mouth as he saw her disappear. Chiachutl.

"Dude?" he heard and opened his heavy eyes to see Bart hovering over him. "You were totally talking in your sleep." He shook his head, grinning slightly in amusement.

Oliver found himself disoriented and not just a little frustrated. He'd missed something. There was something important that he hadn't quite grasped before he woke up. He couldn't remember though; couldn't even remember the face of the woman that had invaded his dreams. He was left with nothing but a feeling of being incomplete.

"I don't remember asking for a wake up call," he grumbled, rubbing at his face as he sat up in the usually comfortable embrace of his leather office chair. Sleeping in it made it a little less though. He ran a hand through his hair before bringing it back down to his face, feeling the dark whiskers from a lack of shaving scrape his palm.

"You look like crap," his friend told him bluntly, hopping up to sit on his desk. "Anyway, I figured since it was four in the afternoon and the rest of the League are gonna be here any minute, I should probably get you up." He shrugged.

He sighed, nodding. "Thanks. Sorry I snapped at you."

Bart shrugged. "Whatever, man. I know you've been super busy since you got back."

Oliver frowned, nodding. "Seems like I haven't stopped."

"Where's our resident blonde genius-babe at, anyway?" Bart crossed his arms over his chest, lifting a brow. "Usually she's sifting through all the info with you."

"She gets back today," he replied, unable to keep the relief from his voice. "Remind me in future never to let her _leave_."

The younger man laughed, grinning widely. "How many days was that? You must be goin' through Chloelicious withdrawal."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Two weeks but we kept up a constant phone tag." He sighed, glancing up at the clock. "Sooner she gets back, quicker we can finish up this case."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's the _only_ reason you can't wait for her to show up," Bart muttered sarcastically.

Clearing his throat, Oliver stood from his desk, gathering up the stack of papers he'd been going through. "Always nice to see a friend," he replied stiffly.

The speedster scoffed. "Dude, seriously! If there's anyone who could understand the _pull_ that is Chloe Sullivan," He lifted his brow, laying a hand over his heart dramatically, "It's moi!"

"Pull?" He pointedly refused to look at his teammate as he made his way to the kitchen. He'd need a large cup of coffee to keep himself going through the impending meeting. For days he'd been sleeping little and reading lots. His mind was filled with facts that as innocent as they may look, were always hiding some dark secret. And every time he closed his eyes, just to rest a minute before continuing on, he fell into a restless sleep. The same dream, over and over, as it if his mind was trying to tell him something. But he just couldn't quite decipher it. Yet.

"Yeah! Pull, aura, desire, _need_. I mean, come on, we all _see_ it!"

"See what?" he asked, drawing a second mug down, the chipped green one that the woman in question seemed to love for reasons he still didn't know. The handle broke off of it about a year back but she just super-glued it back on, refusing to let him buy her a new one. She wasn't going to be there for awhile yet, unless she showed up early, which wasn't completely unlikely. He started wondering if he had any of the cinnamon raisin bagels she liked so much, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember.

Again Bart interrupted his deep thought process, with an abrupt laugh that brought his eyes up to stare at him inquisitively. "Dude, Ollie," he said, reaching over and patting his shoulder. He sighed, mock sorrowfully. "I know I don't come off as the most _observant_ guy, but uh," He chuckled, "I _know_ you're totally hot for Chlo."

Oliver wasn't sure if he should laugh or ignore he said anything at all. "I..." He started but couldn't imagine how to end it. He what? Chloe Sullivan was, without a doubt, one of the most fascinating women he'd ever known. In fact, she was _the_ most fascinating woman. Whether she was laughing or smiling or telling him about some weird fact she'd learned. She surprised him on a daily basis. Just the other day, she started talking about penguins, right out of the blue, and how they were one of few animals that mate for life. She then went on to tell him that there were even gay penguins and that they used a stone to imitate sitting on an egg during the nesting period. More often in captivity than the wild, anyway. It wasn't the first topic that came to mind, but it definitely took the edge off of a four day coffee binge with nothing but stacks and stacks of nondescript papers in front of him.

"I know," Bart replied, nodding. "It's okay, man. Totally normal." He sighed, leaning back against the counter. "If it makes you feel better, if happens to the best of us."

Oliver snickered, shaking his head. "Look, Bart, much as I appreciate your, uh... uplifting speech here, Chloe and I are just friends."

"Hey, I get it, trying to hide the feelings behind the whole ‘we're just friends' thing. Happens a lot. But, you should know, we're all taking bets..." He smirked at him as he backed up out of the kitchen. "If you give in and tell her all those non-existent feelings of yours before the end of the month, I'm gettin' me a jet pack!" He grinned, lifting his hands up defensively. "I know, I know! You say it's a risky idea, but I say... Dude, it's a friggin' jet pack!"

Before Oliver could even reply, Bart had disappeared in a flash, calling out that'd he'd be back after a stop at the Mexican restaurant down the street. He shook his head, sighing to himself before leaning back against the counter once more and closing his eyes, trying to remember his dream for the millionth time, in hopes of deciphering some kind of meaning behind it all. The dark scent of coffee filled the room while he continued to sift through the dream bit by bit, never quite remembering her face, even though she reminded him of someone. Someone important.

He didn't hear the ding of the elevator or the click of her heels. But as soon as she was within arms reach, he felt his entire body buzz with hyperawareness. His eyes slid open, landing on hers naturally, watching as her lips curled at the corners with a soft smile. She reached up, running her palm down the side of his face, feeling the coarse whiskers of his chin. His mind flashed to his dream, of a hand just like hers doing the same thing, feeling the contours of his cheeks and jaw, stroking his skin tenderly. He leaned into the touch, felt himself melt into it.

"I see you've been keeping up on those basic cleanliness skills while I've been away," she teased, lifting a brow.

Her hand fell away and he felt a familiar loss. He cleared his throat, hoping his mind would right itself from the haze that permeated his thoughts. "Busy," he muttered.

She nodded, staring up at him a moment before finally walking around him to the coffee pot. She filled their two mugs, picking her chipped one up and raising it to her mouth. It was with unadulterated interest that he watched her expression change as she sipped her favorite drink. The look of pure pleasure that seemed to envelop her face sent shivers up and down his body. His stomach clenched as he watched her lick her lips, her eyes falling to half mass; so much pleasure in just a simple drink. It was seriously wrong that he wished he was an inanimate object right then. To be that cup...

He needed sleep; badly.

"So?" she said, lifting a curious brow at him. "How has the knight in green leather handled my absence?" she teased.

He groaned, shaking his head. "You're never allowed to leave me again," he told her, feeling an odd ping in his chest. Again, he felt like he was missing something.

She laughed; a musical sound that made his stomach flutter. " _That_ bad?"

"I really, _really_ hate paperwork."

She snorted, shaking her head. "You're the CEO of Queen Industries. You should be used to it."

He frowned, picking up his mug of coffee and lifting a shoulder. "It's an abomination," he muttered.

She chuckled, reaching over to pat his shoulder. Somehow her hand went from patting to rubbing and there was something oddly intimate about having her fingers stroke the sculpt of his bicep as they were now. She didn't appear to notice, eyes turned off, an expression of deep thought on her face. He stared at her a moment, grasping the freedom of looking at her without worrying about what she might say or how she might snark at him for his perusal. He'd always known she was beautiful; it was inescapable. But sometimes, he looked at her and he just... There were physically beautiful women and then there were women who had it all. The physique and the character and the charm to just _capture_ a person. And that was Chloe Sullivan entirely.

"You should jump in for a shower before anybody else gets here," she said, breaking through both her and his reverie. Her hand stilled against his shoulder and she turned her head to look up at him from beneath long, dark lashes. "Personally, I can handle the smell... others might not be too kind though." She winked before turning and leaving the room, her hips swaying side to side enticingly. His shower just went from scalding hot to freezing cold. He frowned, shaking his head and making his way to the bathroom.

A half-hour later, he was refreshed and nearly ready for whatever the League had to throw at him. He wasn't, however, ready to find her sitting cross-legged in the center of his bed while he stood in a loose towel, still dripping wet. Her face was turned downward, eyeing a bunch of papers in her hand and her skirt was riding high on her thighs due to the position she was sitting in. "So I was reading over some of your paperwork," she murmured thoughtfully. "And I talked to Bart," she added before nodding toward the door. "He's eating in the dining room." She shuffled the papers, chewing her lip a moment while he awkwardly stood in the doorway.

Realizing he was being completely _un_ -Oliver-like, he crossed the room to his dresser searching for something to wear and pointedly trying to stop glancing back to peek at her exposed thighs.

"I think the activity in New Hampshire is a cover," she told him, tucking her hair behind her ear out of habit. "I think the real thing is over in Macon."

He sighed, standing upright and shaking his head slowly. "See... That only took me three weeks to figure out on my lonesome."

She chuckled, looking up at him sympathetically but her expression stilled for just a moment and she stared at him. Then her eyes fell, following the descent of a hot bead of water down his chest and he shifted as he watched her lick her lips. He had the urge to reach out for her, to cross the room, lean over the bed, kiss her until she was whimpering and breathless. He could feel his heart speeding up, his breathing becoming labored, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. She was perusing his half-naked body, her eyes a little wide and her mouth parted slightly. Finally, she met his gaze. And for one single second, it felt like everything fell into place. The answer he'd been so blindly searching for clicked in. It was _her_ in that jungle, for whatever reason. It was _her_ hand touching him and _she_ who he was running to so faithfully.

And then the bedroom door was thrown open and Lois came stomping inside, looking frazzled. " _Hello_? Woman pregnant with a half alien baby waiting to see her favorite cousin here!" she exclaimed, staring at Chloe meaningfully.

Chloe cleared her throat, tearing her eyes away from Oliver and looking at Lois with a half-smile. "Sorry. I didn't know you were here yet." She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. "The meeting doesn't start for ten minutes," she reminded.

"Yeah, well, _somebody_ put the clocks twenty minutes ahead so I'd think I was late when I wasn't." She huffed, trying to cross her arms over her extended stomach.

Chloe grinned, shaking her head slightly as she climbed up from the bed. Again, her skirt rose even higher and he swore he saw a snippet of green lace peeking from between her thighs. He lifted a hand, pressing it the furrow of his brows. She was a good friend and a loyal League member; he should _not_ be looking anywhere _near_ her thighs, let alone between them.

"What were you doing in here anyw-" Lois paused and Oliver frowned, knowing she was now staring at him, probably quite smugly. He let his arm fall and turned to his ex-girlfriend, who was in deed smirking at him. "Pulling out all the stops, huh Ollie?"

He frowned at her, shaking his head. "Don't you have a husband to embarrass somewhere?"

She lifted a shoulder, turning to Chloe. "So? You finally put him out of his misery or are you two playing the obtuse angle up a little more?"

"You know I think there's some cupcakes in the kitchen," Chloe replied and Lois was almost instantly distracted by the sugary confection. Oliver let his guard down as the six and a half month pregnant woman wobbled out of his room, shouting loudly that Bart better not be touching her cupcakes. It took him a second to notice Chloe was still there, staring after her cousin with amusement. She turned slowly, looking up at him with those big green eyes of hers. "I just wanted to let you know that... For a guy who had to worry about the League, his company, and just plain every-day-life, it's really not that embarrassing that it took a few weeks." She wrapped her arms around herself, as if shielding herself from giving out a compliment. "Good work, boss," she teased, winking. She left the room, closing the door behind her and Oliver realized he was in deep trouble.

* * *

 

With everybody back in the same town, it was much easier to work. They spent the majority of their time scoping out their newest 33.1 warehouse over in Macon. A day-by-day recon was set up, that way they could judge what was going on. There was so little activity they were a little confused about how Lex was keeping the warehouse going, if it was in fact, the real one.

"Underground tunnels," Chloe announced one afternoon. She came walking through his apartment, her hips swaying a little more than usual, as they often did when she was excited. She was holding up a folder with a large grin on her face. "The building they're using is near an old insane asylum that has various underground tunnels still connected to the main building. They used them to transfer patients to and from buildings and sometimes to bring groceries or supplies in from neighboring cities. They've been closed up for awhile now, but they're easily large enough for a large truck to run through." She opened her folder, showing him the schematics of the old building, dated long before the newer ones he had.

He leaned forward, eyes thinned interestedly. "Where'd you find these?"

She lifted a shoulder. "I know a guy who knows a guy." She grinned, a sparkle in her eye.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look back down at the schematics, following the tunnel with his eyes. He pointed to the highway, where the tunnel ended, or began, depending on how one looked at it. "They must've blocked off the tunnel when they shut down the asylum," he said thoughtfully. "It wouldn't take much for Lex to find the old way in; all he'd have to do was construct some way to hide it afterwards." He smiled slowly, shaking his head. "We've been looking in the wrong place..."

"Yeah, well, it makes sense that he'd drive right up to the building. Not every warehouse has underground tunneling," she reminded.

He looked up at her with a grin of pride. "Great work, Watchtower."

She made a small, overdramatic bow. "All in a days work." Her brows lifted. "Oh! That reminds me." She dug around in her purse and pulled out a new piece of paper. "I need you to sign this. It's a release form giving me access to the League funds." She lifted a shoulder. "Bart needs some new shoes and... he mentioned a jetpack, but I'm going to pretend he didn't." She rolled her eyes, laying the papers down in front of him. She clasped her hands behind her back, suddenly looking quite professional, reminding him of his secretary at Queen Industries. He was reminded of a time a few years ago, when they weren't yet on first name basis and she wasn't sure how to react to him and his "obsession with green leather." He remembered being called, Mr. Queen a lot, which was drastically different from the laid back use of his name from the rest of the League.

" _Just Oliver_ ," he corrected one afternoon.

"All right, Just Oliver, can I get your signature right here," she said with a small smirk and a lifted brow. She needed his consent for something or other, he couldn't remember at the time. He'd been distracted by her eyes and the curve of her lips. The way she said it... _Just Oliver_... He could feel something niggling at the back of his mind. A sense of déjà vu.

Suddenly, her fingers were snapping in front of his eyes, bringing him back to the point. He cleared his throat, " _Sorry, Ms. Sullivan_."

" _Just Chloe_ ," she returned, her smirk fading to a gentle smile.

He grinned back, feeling oddly warm. " _Anything else you need me to sign, Just Chloe?_ "

She smiled, shaking her head. " _Nope. That's it. Thanks_." She walked off with him watching after her thoughtfully.

"Hey? Ollie," he heard and snapped back to reality to find her staring at him once more, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I know you hate paperwork, but this literally only takes your signature. You were the one that wrote this up, remember?" she said, motioning to the paper in front of him.

"Right," he mumbled, looking down to the writing and placing his John Hancock on the line with practiced ease.

She gathered up the papers and stood back up, looking at him over her shoulder. "I'll file these with the others and then find Bart." She smiled. "If he runs around in those sneakers much longer, he's going to be running barefoot."

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. He heard the click of her heels as she walked around the apartment and then faintly as she left toward the elevator. He swallowed tightly. He just realized he'd been in love with Chloe for nearly three years and it definitely wasn't going away anytime soon.

* * *

Bart found the entrance to the tunnels but given their lack of knowledge on how frequently trucks came and went, they decided to have him scope out the area for a week, documenting what happened and when. Clark was currently fighting the bad of Metropolis on a daily basis and Oliver was juggling CEO work with the League. Thankfully, he had Chloe there to help him sort through the mess. She knew where everything went and where he put things, he hadn't even realized he'd lost until he needed them again. She was a lifesaver in the form of a short, curvaceous woman that constantly had his attention. He was amazed he functioned at all; he spent so much of his time searching for ways to get near her. Just to be close to her, to smell the lavender of her shampoo or feel the warmth of her body as she walked past him. She, however, didn't seem to notice his keen interest, seemingly oblivious to his close proximity.

"Are you hungry?" she called out to him from the room he'd designated _her_ office. She came out with a slight frown. "I don't think I've eaten since this morning and I'm starving."

He looked up at her, briefly distracted by the way her fingers were running through her hair, how her body was standing at an angle, all of her curves pushed out and her breasts enticingly perky. "I, uh, sent out for Chinese," he managed to say, forcing his eyes away.

"You read my mind," she murmured in gratitude. "I've been craving egg rolls for a few days now."

He smiled, looking up at her. "I got a few extra."

She walked around the room to stand at his side, his eyes following her every movement. She leaned over his shoulder, grabbed a folder from his desk and whispered near his ear, "Think I might keep you, Queen."

He swallowed tightly, eyes falling shut as her voice, which seemed huskier than usual, filled his senses. He could feel her breath skitter over his ear, her lips briefly graze the shell as she drew away, and the heat of her body cool with each step she took back towards her office. "Call me when it gets here. I just have a few more papers to look through and then I'm done for the night." She looked back at him with a grin. "If you're almost done, I challenge you to PlayStation." She pointed at him to prove her point and he nodded.

"You're going down, Sullivan."

She laughed, her head falling back. "You wish!"

He grinned, leaning back in his chair, suddenly happy to get his paperwork done as fast as possible.

* * *

She went on a date; one that didn't involve him in any possible way. The worst part was every single member of the League knew and they were all staring at him in pity. He spent the entire night pacing, back and forth, stuck in a constant state of turmoil. He should have said something, but then... If she was so willing to date somebody else, her feelings must not be the same, right? They'd been dancing around each other for years and it wasn't as if he hadn't dated a debutante here or there, more for reputation's sake than anything. But at the end of the night, he always ended up returning home to an empty apartment, wishing she was around so they could talk or battle on the PlayStation or even just look through the many stacks of League work they had. Mysteries and possibilities and maybes all sitting in a large pile in her office, waiting to be looked through. It probably meant something that he'd rather stay home with her and do nothing even remotely sexual than spend a night with a very passionate woman, ready to do whatever his heart desired.

He'd ignored that for a long time though; the interest in whatever Chloe was doing, be it interesting or not. She was a constant in his life and that's how he liked it. He didn't want her to be any less frequent than what she was. If anything, he wanted more of her. He wanted to know what that creamy skin of her tasted like, what it felt like in her most intimate areas, exposed beneath those professional skirts and blouses. He wanted to know if she put as much spunk into lovemaking as she did into solving a mystery. If she'd still snark him off while he was lapping at her folds, tongue thrusting into her heat, hands stroking her inner thighs. If she'd scream his name or whisper it or pant it as he thrust inside of her, arms wrapped tight around her body, holding her close, feeling all of those curves.

He heard the ding of the elevator and his brow furrowed. He hadn't been expecting guests and he wasn't really in the mood for seeing anyone. He dispersed the League before they could start in on their pitying or understanding or any of that. He looked up, ready to tell whoever it was that he just didn't want to talk, but then he found _her_ standing there, smiling at him in resolve. She lifted a shoulder and then crossed the room, shedding her jacket and kicking off her heels as she went. "It was a bust," she told him before sitting down on the couch, one leg drawn up beneath her.

He sat across from her, turning to see her expression.

"Nice restaurant, good looking guy, great food, nice atmosphere..." She shook her head. "And he was _completely_ not interested."

He lifted a brow in slight confusion. She was the most _interesting_ woman he'd ever known. Just the life she lived could keep a whole room of people sitting on edge with anticipation for her next tale.

She laughed rather bitterly. "He was zoning out!" she said, eyes widening and brows lifting. "I could understand if my job was boring, but really..." She shook her head. "It was like everything I was saying wasn't the least bit interesting. I tell him I'm an investigative reporter, he just nodded. _Nobody_ just nods to that; they want to know about the danger and excitement and the near-death experiences. Which I mostly don't like talking about, but that he didn't even _wonder_ was just... unusual." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "So he wasn't saying anything, and I really mean _anything_ , and I hate silences with strangers, you know? So I was sitting there and I just couldn't seem to stop talking, but whatever I said had absolutely no effect." She threw her arm up. "So then I tried being quiet and just eating. I stuffed my mouth with lasagna so I wouldn't try and convince him that I really wasn't boring!" She laughed. "But he just kept playing with his cutlery and finally I couldn't stay quiet anymore, so I started babbling about nonsense." She blushed slightly and then covered her face with her hands.

He waited for her to continue, knowing she would.

"So then dinner is over and he tells me he was going to take me to a movie but he thinks my talking will interrupt everybody else!" she exclaimed, letting her hands fall as she stared at him, looking both mortified and hysterical. She looked around, as if searching for the sanity in the world. "If he had said _anything_ , I probably would've stopped talking. But in the end, it looked like I was this giant motor mouth and he was this well mannered guy who got stuck with a weirdo!" She laughed, this time less in amusement and more in resolve. "Why do I even date anymore?" She shook her head.

He reached out, taking her hand and drawing it into his lap. "Because if you didn't, the world would miss out on its greatest accomplishment," he told her.

"What? Me and my giant mouth?'

He laughed, shaking his head as he stroked her palm with his thumb. "The guy was a jerk and you were trying to make up for that. Nobody can blame you for trying to fill the silence. Personally, I would've just left."

She sighed, leaning further into the couch. They were quiet for a moment, comfortable in the silence. He continued to hold her hand, noticing how small it was in comparison to his large, calloused palm and long fingers. His skin was dark and tanned while hers was a pale white and soft to the touch.

"Do you think I talk too much, Ollie?" she finally asked, her tone quiet.

He smiled, lifting a shoulder. "I think you like to talk and I like to listen."

She looked up at him, her lips curving and her eyes sparkling. "Convenient. I like it."

He chuckled, nodding to himself. Maybe one day she'd notice that the silences were bearable with him as well and give him a chance at making her see that if the rest of the world -its quiet, jerk suitors included- didn't see the incredible woman he did, he'd always be there and willing to take their place. _Always_.

* * *

He didn't know why, but she almost always seemed to appear right before he got ready to go patrolling. The rest of the League was out doing their own recon or in Bart's case, keeping an eye on their newest target. But here she was, dressed in pajamas and sitting on his balcony, leaned back in one of the chairs, staring at the sky. He always knew when she was there, could feel it somehow. He didn't bother reaching for his suit, instead searching the apartment for her and noticing the door to the balcony was open. She had a throw blanket wrapped around her to keep the chill out and she looked half-asleep, completely peaceful as she stared up at the sky.

He sat down in the chair next to her, leaning back in its embrace, his legs elevated on the bottom end of the lounger. "You all right, Sidekick?" he asked her, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes.

Her lips ticked with a smile that was there and gone in a second. "It's unusual, isn't it?" She swallowed tightly. "Everybody is out there, oblivious... They have no idea that you're going to put on your suit and go out there to try and keep them safe. They don't know what dangers are around every corner or what heroes stand waiting to take the bullet for them." She shook her head. "Do you think it's always been that way?" She turned slightly, glancing at him. "That way back, there were heroes then too... In simpler times or... more complicated even, depending on how you looked at it." She pulled her blanket tighter, staring up at the stars. "Or did they know who was bad and who was good, like it was more obvious then."

"Maybe the world was black and white once, but now it's all the colors of the rainbow. There're just too many possibilities..."

She nodded, licking her lips. "They still like to think we can all basically be broken up. Good and bad, black and white..." She sighed, shaking her head. "Even if it was all black and white, I bet I'd be grey."

He grinned, turning his head toward her. "Me too."

They were quiet for a moment and he looked up at the stars; untouched by the cruelty of the world. They saw it all, but they had no part in it. They seemed pure and untainted compared to the streets he wandered, city after city, fighting the garbage that preyed on the weak. They shone brightly, lighting up the city with a lack of fluorescent or artificial glow. They lit up Chloe's face, making it seem gentler, more at ease, despite all she'd seen and done. They made her eyes seem a darker green and for that he appreciated them all the more.

"So let's say the world _is_ black and white and we're the enigma, the grey..." She turned to look at him, a lock of her hair falling over her eyes. He reached across, brushed it away, finger trailing across her cheek. "Which do the stars belong to?"

Her lips quirked with a smile. "What would you do if the stars were _yours_?" she asked, lifting a brow.

He turned away, staring back up at the stars with a knowing grin and a sense of fulfillment in his chest. "Give them to you," he said simply and without waiting for her reply, he left the balcony, back into the apartment. He walked straight to his hidden room, dressed for the night ahead, and got ready to fight for the good in the world. The people of grey, the Chloe Sullivan's, and the stars themselves.

* * *

Some nights, she wasn't there when he returned, others she waited. He wasn't sure which he wanted when he stumbled into the apartment, his arm bleeding profusely and his body shaking head to toe. He hated the expression that crossed her face when she saw him like this. Not pity; _never_ pity. But she was angry, at the world for doing it to him, at him for being willing to let it happen. Of course it wasn't as if he went out and told them to stab him, but he hadn't deflected the blow in time and his shoulder was deeply injured because of it. He'd won in the end, but he was sure that wouldn't make her feel any better. He knew that if she wasn't there, he'd either have to die for his secret or call an ambulance. There was too much blood to ignore and he wasn't even sure he had it in him to call out for Clark to bring Chloe. Plus he hated the idea that she might take on the pain or the injury or even die for him. He hated seeing her so still and lifeless, pale and limp as she laid in his arms.

There was a trail of blood leading from the secret elevator and across the floor. He heard her coming and closed his eyes tight, grimacing as he heard her gasp. He turned around slowly, wanting to shrug as if it was nothing but not daring to. She stared up at him with wide eyes, her face drained of blood. She hurried across the floor and he noticed that her white socks soaked through red but she didn't slow or stop, she just kept coming toward him. She seemed to catch him as he was falling, holding him as he slid to sit on the floor.

"Idiot," she muttered, but he wasn't sure if it was to him or whoever hurt him. She looked at him and then back to his wound, her expression pinching in a not-so-comforting way. Carefully, she unzipped his vest and he wasn't so hurt that he didn't notice how her fingers trailed down his chest, tips grazing hardened flesh. He jumped at the tender touch and she apologized, thinking she'd somehow bumped his bad arm, he didn't bother correcting her. She pulled the soaked and ragged leather away from his arm, peeling it apart slowly. She looked at him, chewing her lip and he already knew what she thinking. He shook his head as hard as he could but he was becoming dazed from the loss of blood.

"Don't," he managed.

"It's the only way."

"Then it ends..."

"Don't you _dare_ say that, Oliver Queen," she whispered fiercely.

He noticed the tears in her eyes then and smiled slightly. "You're not so oblivious to me, are you Chloe?" he slurred.

Her brows furrowed. "I was never _oblivious_ to you, Ollie." She sighed, sliding her hand across his wound, careful not to touch it. "I was looking out for you."

Before he could ask, he felt the warmth of her healing power envelop his arm and then all of himself, taking all the pain and the agony and the dizzy confusion away from him and replacing it with a glorious feeling of comfort. He felt his toes and fingertips tingle and his stomach squirmed, his arm healing with a strong heat permeating from it. The glow was so harsh, he could barely make out her face, tight with concentration. And finally, the light faded away and he slumped back to the floor, the touch of her hand against his arm the only thing he could really feel in that moment. But now it wasn't warm; instead it was icy cold and he blinked his eyes rapidly, taking in the pale form of her as she slumped sideways in a heap.

His heart clenched in his chest and he gathered up his strength, turning over so he could draw her up into his arms. He carried her to his bedroom, laid her down in the silk sheets and then left for the bathroom, soaking a cloth in hot water so he could clean her hands of his blood. He felt his eyes sting and his jaw clench. It never got easier, seeing her like this. When he came back, she was still just as white as ever, still unmoving, no air going in or out. He carefully washed her hands, removing every last drop of his blood from her fingers and palm, her wrist and forearm, until she was just as flawless as ever. And then he lifted her legs, one by one, and removed the white socks that were now a ghastly red and washed the crimson stains from her feet. He wrapped her in his blanket, turned her on her side, and brushed her hair from her face. She almost looked like she was just sleeping, if not for the abnormal shade of her skin.

He got her a glass of water, she was always thirsty when she woke back up and then escaped into the bathroom. He needed to get the rest of his gear off; he needed to wash away the blood. He felt like he'd done something wrong; like he'd killed her. She'd done this before, many times in fact, but usually she didn't die, she just passed out, exhausted. The few times she had died, it was usually his fault. He was starting to think she waited up because she expected to have to die for him. No matter how many times he told her not to, she did it anyway. "Not saving you would be the same as killing you," she would tell him later. But he always thought it was more than that; more than keeping her conscience clear.

He stayed by her side all night. Sat in a chair next to her for hours, just waiting for that first stir to assure him that she'd made it through this time as well. The sun rose and he closed the Venetian blinds to keep it out. He sat in the dark room, just waiting, on edge and fearful that she wasn't so lucky this time. That his wrong move had cost her life. He ran shaky hands through his hair, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He should call someone; Clark or Lois... But they'd be worried and with Lois so far along, it could cause complications. And she always woke up... She did. And she would. She had to.

He spent nearly an entire day sitting next to her or pacing the room. Her rule was twenty-four hours; anything longer and they were supposed to enact Plan B, putting her body somewhere to be quickly found. She would jokingly come up with plans to make it look like Lex killed her, just to make light of the situation, but he never laughed. He could barely fathom doing that to her; just discarding her somewhere in hopes that the police found her before somebody else stumbled upon her.

He stared at the clock; ten minutes. That was all that was left before he would be forced to call someone. He closed his eyes tightly, covering his face with his hands. What had he done? He shook his head, taking a deep, shaking breath that hurt more than eased the pain in his chest. He couldn't do it... he couldn't call... Maybe he'd just give it another half hour... or hour... or just one more day. Right? That couldn't hurt. But he couldn't let go yet; couldn't pick up her pale, lifeless body and put it somewhere undeserving of her. She still looked so peaceful; lying in front of him, cheek pressed against his pillow, body wrapped up in a blanket to try and warm her.

He felt anger well up in his chest; at himself and her and the man who forced them into this position. It wasn't right... He stood up from his chair suddenly, his back tense and his shoulders lifting and falling rapidly. His stomach twisted tight and he felt the need to throw up. After all they'd done; all she'd given of herself for this world... it still ended up killing her. _He_ was the reason she was dead and he couldn't accept that. Of all the people in the world, the victims out there, the good and bad, she was his redemption. She was what kept him going; her and her bubbling laughter that always made him feel like he was grounded. Her and that Sullivan grin of hers that made his stomach clench and the air leave his chest. He relied on seeing her; on hearing her voice, on the phone or in person. And okay, Bart was right... He'd fallen hard and there was no chance of him getting back up. He was done. He forfeited. He wanted her and he wanted her to want him and he couldn't lose her. Not like this. Not ever like this.

There was a rustling coming from behind him, on the bed, and he felt his chest lighten suddenly, but he was scared to look. Terrified that he'd turn around and have imagined it; or that she'd still be dead and one of those lifeless limbs had simply slipped from the bed. He gathered up his courage, closed his eyes and turned around. But he couldn't force himself to look. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was fairly sure he was going to pass out any second now.

"Hey," he heard and his shoulders fell, his eyes opened and relief flooded him.

He stared at her a moment, just sitting there in his bed, wrapped in his sheets, still pale but with a rosy hue to her cheeks. She looked up at him with a slight smile. She held a hand out, as if beckoning him closer and he didn't hesitate, sliding across his bed to sit next to her. His hands shook but he curled them into fists and then wrapped his arms around her, dragging her in close until she was practically sprawled across his lap. She rested her head against his shoulder, sunk into his embrace and just sighed.

He didn't let her go for awhile, just held her, rocked side to side, and breathed in the sweet scent that was _her_. Her hair was soft against his cheek, her body light and curvy pressed against him. Her arms were looped low around his waist, hands running up and down his back slowly, soothingly.

"Save your life and this is all I get?" she murmured. "I was expecting five star coffee, Queen."

He laughed, his smile wavering. Despite her comment, her voice was croaky and much less snarky than usual. "Thanks Doc," he whispered against her temple. His brows furrowed for a moment. He'd called her many things; Chlo, Watchtower, ‘Tower, Sidekick, and various aliases over the years. But ‘Doc' was new and he hadn't even really thought it through, it just slipped out.

She sighed lightly. "We do what we have to do," she breathed and then he felt her fall asleep. As long as her chest kept lifting and falling, that was all that mattered. Apparently dying was exhausting, even after twenty-four hours of not moving or breathing. He laid her back down on the bed, but instead of standing up to leave, he drew the blanket up around both of them and pulled her close against his chest. He was tired and content with her so close, so _alive_. As soon as he woke up, however, they were going to have a very important conversation.


	9. The Hero and His Watchtower (2/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very much in love with fellow Justice Leaguer, Chloe Sullivan, Oliver Queen must convince her to take a chance on him and love once more, but not all the drama is connected to the heart

**********Part 8B** : _The Hero and His Watchtower_

How long are you going to keep avoiding me?" he asked, staring at her standing across the room, leaning over her desk, faking concentration on whatever papers laid in front of her.

"I'm not avoiding you," she replied, refusing to look up.

"You know I want to talk about the other night... So you're purposely finding more important things to do than talk to me." He tipped his head to the side, staring at her through thinned eyes. "You said something..."

"You lost a lot of blood," she muttered, lifting her head, a defiant expression staring out at him.

He grinned. "Right, so I must've _imagined_ it when you told me you were never oblivious to me... to _us_."

"There is no us," she corrected, her eyes falling once more. "You're you and I'm me and we are very separate."

He licked his lips. "That's not what I want though."

She sighed, shaking her head. "It's how it is and it's just... It's how it should stay."

He walked closer, purposely moving slow so not to startle her into running. She looked like she was being cornered. Her posture stiff, her eyes looking everywhere but at him. He put his hands in his pockets, watched as hers picked up papers, sorted and stacked them, trying to stay occupied, but still, he could see how they shook. "What are you running from, Sidekick?"

"Running?" she repeated, a slight laugh at the end. "I'm not running from anything." She lifted her chin, stared at him with the confidence he loved about her. But there was vulnerability behind those vivid green eyes; worry and fear. "Or anyone." Her eyes fell again, staring pointedly at the scattered papers on her desk. All information toward their current case, nothing that needed her distinct interest right then.

"You said you were looking out for me... What do I need to be kept safe from?" he wondered, stepping around the desk until he was right next to her. He picked up a lock of her hair, golden soft against his finger. "You?" he asked, his tone tinged with amusement.

"Laugh all you want, Leather boy, but remember that my relationships have a file all their own," she said, pushing a stack of papers away from her. "Crazy, dead, murderous, infected..." She looked up at him, her mouth quirking at the corners. "Aliens."

He licked his lips, looking away for a second and then back at her. "And you're trying to scare me off? Is that it? Because I don't scare easily... You, of all people, know that."

She shook her head, turning her gaze to some distant place over his shoulder. "You and me, Oliver, we're..." She sighed.

"We're the grey," he murmured, curling her hair around his finger. "Maybe all those other men in your life, all of those exes that never deserved you or fit with you... They were in the black or the white..."

He stared at her, taking in the plains of her face. The shape of her eyes, the length of her lashes, the slope of her nose, the pink of her lips, the curve of her neck. How anybody could under-appreciate her was beyond him. She wasn't just a sidekick or back up to the big guns. Sure, she worked the intelligence angle perfectly; got them out of so many scrapes, he was sure they'd all be long dead and the League would've fallen apart before it ever truly started. But she was more than that; more than Clark ever saw. She was beautiful, in a way he sometimes thought only _he_ saw. As if the rest of the world had blinders on; having no idea just how incredible she looked to the naked eye. The green of her eyes, the white of her skin, the gold of her hair; the curves of her hips, the slender gentleness to her hands, the swell of her perfect breasts. And then there were the parts of her that weren't just physical; her compassion and understanding, her humor and passion. The ring of her laughter, the sound of her voice, the glint of triumph in her eyes when she learned something new. It all made up this incredible person that he couldn't imagine not knowing. She was right there at his side as the League grew and expanded, becoming more and more of a blight against crime and evil. She was the voice in the back of his head, in his ear on missions, his conscience; the voice of reason in harsh circumstances.

"And I want to say that I wish you'd never known them, that they never hurt you, but I can't..."

Her brows furrowed.

"Because they made you who you are... Because in the end, they brought you here, to me... And I can't fault them for that. I can't wish you'd grown up differently, without all of this drama and heartbreak. I'm selfish..." He smiled slightly. "Without it, you would've been someone else, some _where_ else and I never would've known you, never would've met you." He swallowed tightly. "So I'm sorry that they broke your heart, I'm sorry that because of them, you're scared to try and let me mend it."

She blinked rapidly, the sheen of tears obvious. "I can't fall for you," she whispered. "In the end, one of us will be hurt. It's how it always goes... And it's probably going to be _me,_ " she breathed, shaking her head.

He cupped her cheek, lifted her face so she was staring directly at him. "If you fall I'll catch you."

"Then we'll both crash and burn," she said, searching his eyes for any kind of deceit or lie. But there was none to be found.

"You're worth it," he told her, stroking the soft apple of her cheek, wiping away a tear that slipped loose. "You're _entirely_ worth it."

"I'm probably going to regret this," she whispered, so quiet he could barely hear her. And then she was lifting up on the tips of her toes, her mouth slanting against his.

His eyes fell closed, his brow furrowing at the strong sensation of her lips against his. He felt her hands slide around his neck and into his hair, nails grazing his skin. He felt a shiver run down his spine, reverberate back up until he let out a little gasp, his mouth parting against hers. She took advantage, her tongue sliding inside, dragging over his, drawing him into action. His arms fell, wrapped around her waist, drew her up against him. The heat of her body compared nothing to the heat he felt from her lips, her teeth grazing his mouth, his tongue. His hands slid up and down her back, feeling the soft texture of her silk blouse beneath them. He wanted, _needed_ , to touch more of her, all of body arched, every inch of her seeming to touch him intimately, so close, so soft, fitting against him like a bow in his hand; perfect.

There were flashes of something behind his eyes, of her and him, but _not_. He couldn't focus; was too distracted by the way her hand slid down the back of his neck, fingers fanning over his shoulder before falling down his chest, the heat of her palm seeping through his shirt. But she was there, in the back of his mind; like an Amazon princess, dressed as she'd been in his dream. Running through the jungle, her arms outstretched, hands reaching for her beloved jungle, the green comparing nothing to that of her eyes. And then she was gone, replaced by a beautiful blonde vision, dripping wet, walking toward him, bare of any cloth. Her skin never kissed by the sun, while he was bronzed as if a servant of it. She smirked up at him, that mischievous, knowing grin of hers. And he could hear her laughter, her voice so clear, telling him she'd keep him forever as she danced in the... _sand_?

He didn't care; he didn't care what unusual thoughts were muddling his mind. What mattered more was the warm, soft, _real_ body pressed up against him. The fingers unbuttoning the front of his shirt, parting it easily, her small hand running over his chest, nails scraping against him, fingers touching every inch, leaving a trial of heat behind them. She parted from his mouth, both of them gasping for air. He couldn't open his eyes; he didn't want to find she wasn't there at all, that he'd dreamt the whole thing. Instead, he stood still, enjoying the feel of her mouth kissing down his neck and across his shoulder before falling to caress his chest, her tongue and teeth grazing and laving at him. His shirt hung from his wrists, arms still holding her near to him, hands spread out over her back.

_"Run away with me?" she whispered._

It wasn't _her_ , not the her that was currently pressing warm kisses to his front. It was another _her_ , which didn't make sense, but he could hardly think straight as it was. But he remembered this other her. This woman who looked like her, sounded like her, reminded him in every way of her. But she spoke differently, dressed for a different era entirely. And that her; she'd been just as stubborn against being with him, but he'd convinced her.

Dreams; more dreams that made no sense; that boggled his mind like the one of them in the forest. He didn't understand what it meant; what any of it meant.

He was brought back to the present, his feet stumbling unsteadily backwards, toward his bedroom. He looked down at her, his eyes finally opening, to see her flushed and staring up at him, her chin on his chest. The hand in his hair moved just slightly, ruffling affectionately. He stared; at her thoroughly kissed lips, at her passion-glazed eyes and then he bent forward, captured her mouth once more and in one easy movement, hauled her up into his arms. The feel of her soft blouse against his bare chest was slightly cold but he could feel her heat, her curves beneath that and it brought with it a comfort he hadn't expected. She made a small shriek as he lifted her, the noise muffled by his mouth. He grinned against her lips, opening his eyes to look at her. She lifted a brow at him, trying not to smile.

"I have two good feet," she told him, her voice huskier than usual.

"I'm aware," he replied, turning and walking toward his room, stepping out of the office she'd locked herself away in since waking up in his arms the morning before. Some part of him kept waiting for her to change her mind, to come back to her stubborn senses and decide that what they had could _not_ evolve. But instead she looked up at him through half lidded eyes, traced his jaw from one end to the other with the tip of her finger and then down his neck, seeming to touch every inch of it thoroughly.

The room was dim, the curtains closed and the lights off. He put her down in the center of his bed and lifted his arms, undoing the cuffs on each wrist before tossing away his shirt entirely. He reached for her, caught her ankle and drug her slowly to the edge. He slid his fingers from her knee up her thigh to the clasps holding her stockings in place, undoing them easily before he rolled the thin material down slowly, his hand cupping the back of her knee and sliding down her calf to stop at her ankle before maneuvering beneath her heel, along the sole of her foot, watching as she shivered, and dropped the stocking away. He repeated the action with her other leg, thumbs stroking the back of her knee, fingers tickling the bottom of her foot for a second, grinning as she laughed, squirming on the bed. She sat up as he let her leg back down, reached for him, her hands sliding up from his waist to his ribs and then back down, fingers tracing the rim of his pants before falling to the buckle of his belt and undoing it easily, all the while her eyes stayed connected to his.

She lifted up to kneel in front of him, fingers popping open the button on his pants and sliding the zipper down. He reached for her, lifted her up until she was standing, her hands on his shoulder, her head bent to look down at him from the added height of the bed. Undoing each button of her blouse, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to every inch revealed of her stomach and ribs, letting his chin rest just beneath the valley of her breasts as he parted her blouse the rest of the way, drew it down her shoulders, his palms skimming over her arms before he dropped it to the floor. She stood in front of him in a pale green lace bra and a black skirt, both elegant and sensual.

She turned around, fell back trustingly until her back met with his chest, her head falling to his shoulder, looking up at him with a slight smile. She undid her own skirt, shifted her hips side to side and pushed it away, lifting each leg until she could kick it away entirely. Her hands slid behind her, running down the front of him as her face turned, her lips pressing against his neck, suckling his skin slowly, teasingly. She pushed his pants down and away and he felt them drop to the floor. His hands reached for her hips, squeezed them lightly before sliding up her sides, taking in the gentle lines of her curves, the lace of her panties a drastically different texture to the softness of her skin.

He felt her fingers run along the top of his briefs, nails grazing his abdomen. She tugged on them, nipping his neck simultaneously and then slid down his body, falling to her knees on the mattress, faced away from him. She moved to the center of the bed, looked at him over her shoulder with a mischievous half-smirk and slid her arms up behind her, fingers unclasping her bra easily. One by one, she slid her straps down her arms, revealing the long, creamy curve of her bare back. Her arms covered the sides of her breasts as she tugged the lace cups away, tossed the bra to the floor and let her hands fall to her thighs, running up and down them. She licked her lips and lifted a challenging brow.

" _I will make you very happy_."

_"You already do."_

He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to be distracted by... whatever it was bombarding his mind. Images of him and her, another time, another place.

He wanted to be in the here and now. He knelt down on the bed, crawled across to her, reached over and ran his fingers down the sole of her foot, grinning as she gave a small shriek of laughter, glaring playfully at him. He sat behind her, felt her warmth as she leaned back, fitting against his chest perfectly. His head tilted forward, ear grazing hers, cheek pressing against hers, eyes taking in her nearly bare form. Pale peaks, rosy tips, heaved as her breathing became labored. His hands slid down her arms, fingers wandering along her bicep, beneath her forearm, across her wrist, her hands sitting limp against her thighs. He turned his head, pressed a kiss to her chin, slid upwards along her cheek before he closed his eyes, feeling their hands slide slowly up her thighs, together. They dipped between to run along the damp center of her panties and his shoulders tensed at the heat there before they moved higher, thumbs sliding into the lace band before drawing them down. She lifted herself and he slid them down until they caught at her knees. Her legs moved, one by one until they were shed entirely and then their hands were kneading her thighs once more, her setting the pace, letting him get close to her folds, but never quite there.

His breathing picked up, panting against her cheek. He swore he could hear her heartbeat somehow, racing against his touch. She brought his hands up and he waited for her to draw them away but then he felt his knuckles brush against her heat, so wet. He felt a moan well up in his throat and clenched his jaw. She let go of his hands and his eyes opened to see them slide upward, wandering over her bare front. His fingers thoroughly explored her slit, running up and down and in massaging circles that made her jerk and cry out. He paid special attention to her clit, watching as his fingers ran around the taut nub before he spread them lower and entered her with one, two, three fingers, his other hand still drawing figure eights on her folds.

He kissed down her face and beneath her ear before suckling at the crook of her neck while his fingers worked her into a frenzy. Her hands cupped her breasts, kneading in time with the movement of his fingers deep inside of her. He could feel her tightening, could feel her body shuddering, getting closer. He managed to capture her mouth in a long kiss as she came, his tongue tangling with hers as his fingers continued to slide in and out while she jerked and her thighs quaked, her entire body thrumming and shaking as she cried out into his mouth. Her arm lifted, falling back to wrap around his neck and clutch his hair.

When they parted they were both panting, eyes glazed and bodies on fire. She turned around, leaning into him until he fell backwards, sprawled on the bed. She pushed his boxer-briefs away, quick and easy and climbed on top of him. He groaned, neck tight as his head fell back at the feel of her wet heat against his hard cock. His hands gripped her thighs while she rocked back and forth, brushing herself up against him in torturously slow strokes. She kissed his chest, tongue flicking over his nipples, her hands holding his arms down so he couldn't reach for her, could only take what she gave him. He could reverse the position easily, but he didn't. It was nice to be taken care of for once and she was _really_ good at it.

Her thumbs stroked across the sensitive flesh on the underside of his biceps making his muscles tense and release. Her mouth traveled all over his torso, paying special attention to the areas that made him arch into her or let out a shuddering breath. The ticklish area of his ribs, her teeth grazing against his collarbones, her tongue against his hip bone and when her mouth finally met his, he sighed contently. Her hands slid away from his arms, up his neck and buried in his hair, tangled there, tugging lightly.

His arms wrapped around her, fingers running up and down her back, stroking her spine and the base of her neck. She parted her thighs further and he took the invitation. His hand slid between them, finger running along her slit and with long-needed completion, he lifted his hips just as she let hers fall back and they joined. He slid deep inside of her, hugged tight by her shaking walls. She let out a choked moan, her body falling further back until he was buried in her entirely. His hands gripped the back of her shoulders as their mouths parted, panting against each other harshly. Her fingers were so tight in his hair, if he wasn't completely distracted by pleasure it would've been painful.

"Oh god," he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut. "You're so tight; so perfect."

He felt her fingers loosen and then she was moving, rocking her hips side to side and around in circles that got wider as she lifted herself off of him. She sat up straight, bracing herself with her hands on his shoulder and chest. She was arched beautifully, her breasts pressed out and her head falling back. He slid a hand up her front, across her tensing stomach and cupped one of her breasts. The weight and soft feel of it in his hand felt incredible; his thumb stroked across the rosy nipple in the center, watching as she bit her lip, a small whimper escaping her. She lifted and fell, their hips meeting as she filled herself with him, nearly leaving him entirely bereft of her heat each time before she slid back down to full capacity.

It was slow, almost too much so, but it felt all-consuming, as if there was nothing but them. Just bliss in its most pure form, ricocheting through his entire body. She clenched around him, lifting and falling, her tight heat drawing him so close and then releasing him before he could jump off the precipice. Sweat broke out on their skin, making their movements quicker, their limbs sliding together. She leaned down, burying her face against his shoulder and suckling his neck, nipping lightly as her hips rocked. She murmured his name needily, her fingers tightening around his shoulders.

He turned them over swiftly, easily, until she was sprawled out beneath him, her legs spread far apart and her arms above her head. He knelt between her thighs, his hands holding her hips and thrust inside of her quicker, deeper, using the angle to brush her clit with his rigid cock. He held back his own orgasm, just barely, as she came at the sudden change, her body thrumming and arching against it. She yelled his name, eyes closed and mouth wide open as she gasped for air. He slowed his thrusts, letting her come down from it before he slid his hands from her thighs up her stomach, slow and tender. He ran his palms across her breasts, relishing in how her body lifted, a moan escaping her. His touch moved higher, up her shoulders and following the length of her arms as his body covered hers, front to front. His hands found hers against the blanket, high above them, their fingers twining.

He kissed her, their tongues tangling, lips slanting back and forth, and he rocked quicker now. Her legs wrapped around him, her hips tipped, and she encouraged his speedy thrusts with deep moans of satisfaction. He lost sense of time, of anything but his movements that seemed to go in and out of their own volition now. So close, so close. She bit his lip, her tongue trailing the underside before she breathed his name into his mouth and he met it with his own gasp of hers. And then they were _there_ , together, flying high above bodies that had never known such utter ecstasy. His back arched, tightening and clenching as everything from his head to his toes shook with incredible ferocity.

It seemed like forever and yet not long enough when he fell back, his body useless as he laid on top of her, head buried in her shoulder. Her hands slid up and down his back, soothing, while the rest of her still twitched and clenched pleasantly. He kissed her neck, too exhausted to do much else. She turned them over until she was sprawled out on top of him comfortably, head on his chest. He stroked her shoulders as they laid there trying to catch their breath, slowly opening his eyes to stare tiredly up at the ceiling.

"So I wasn't expecting this when I came into work today," she murmured.

He laughed, kissing the top of her head. "Neither was I, but I'm definitely not complaining."

She lifted her head, smiling at him. "Complaining is the farthest thing from my mind."

He smirked, reaching out to brush her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Could've happened awhile ago if someone wasn't so stubborn," he sighed playfully.

She rolled her eyes. "Hey, maybe it was a fluke because of the build up."

He snorted. "I'll gladly diffuse that assumption any day."

Chuckling, she kissed his chin. "Sounds good to me."

Lifting a brow, he reached for the blanket beneath him and flipped it up to cover them. "How's a short nap sound first?"

She sighed agreeably, nodding. "Very good."

He rolled them sideways until she was spooned up against him, his arm wrapped comfortably around her waist and his face buried against the back of her neck, inhaling her lavender scent. He kissed her shoulder, letting his eyes fall closed. "Hey?" he mumbled quietly.

"Yeah?"

His brow furrowed. "Do you believe in past lives?" he wondered.

She was quiet for a moment, as if thinking, and then replied, "After all that I've seen, all that I know... Nothing is completely unbelievable."

He nodded, lips quirked in a slight smile before he let himself drift away, feeling more content than he had in ages.

A couple hours later, he woke her up by burying his face between her thighs and finding out just how incredible her heat tasted; like a fresh nectarine, her sweet juices spilled across his tongue. Her tangy flavor awoke primal desires inside him that had them meeting once more, much quicker than before. Returning the favor, she had him hard and ready to go with a steady hand and a thorough tongue before they were sprawled across the bed once more; disproving her theory easily that it was all the build up that made the sex so incredible.

Utterly exhausted, they passed out for a few hours, wrapped around each other with no thought for the rest of the world, only to be woken up late that night.

"Boss! Ollie, man, wake the hell up!" he heard distantly as he blinked his eyes and tried to focus.

"Bart?" he muttered questioningly.

"Yeah... Uh, hey Chlo," he greeted. "Not to jump in the middle of the love nest or anything, but we got some problems. Something's going down and it's big. I think we're gonna have to infiltrate tonight."

"Tonight?" Chloe asked, rubbing her eyes as she sat up, holding the sheet against her. "Are we ready for that?"

"We might have to be," Oliver sighed. "Get the others, Bart."

"On it." He disappeared and they looked at each other.

"They're all gonna know when they get here," she told him, brow lifted knowingly.

He grinned. "Well now there's no chance you can fake being oblivious to be."

"I wasn't going to try," she assured, leaning over and kissing him lingeringly before she climbed out of the bed, completely naked and walked toward the bathroom for a shower. "You coming?"

He jumped off the bed. "Not yet," he said lowly against her ear, closing the door behind them and wrapping his arms around her.

A half hour later, they were surrounded by the tired but alert League.

"So what's up?" AC wondered, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bart hopped down off the kitchen table, half-eaten sandwich in hand. "Luthor's moving something out and bringing something bigger in. I don't know what it is, but it's high tech and heavily guarded. I overheard a few of the guys there talking about how it was gonna blow by morning."

The League turned to Oliver, who was only mildly distracted by Chloe's proximity. Her hand was on his shoulder, knuckle of her forefinger running up and down the side of his neck absently. He went blank for only a second, long enough for them to notice, before he said, "Then we're going to have to go in. Whatever it is, it could be hazardous to whoever's inside and the town nearby."

"Lois will be on comm., she knows the schematics like the back of her hand," Chloe announced.

"Last time she kept having to take pee breaks," Bart muttered.

They tried to stifle their amusement.

"Watch it, shrimp!" Lois exclaimed, glaring at him. "And gimme that sandwich!"

"No way, preggers, you already ate all my chips!"

She put her hands on her hips. "I'm eating for two here, kid!"

"Could'a fooled me. It's more like triplets in there!" Bart hurried away from her before she could get to him and hid behind Chloe.

"What did I tell you about tempting her when she's hungry?" Chloe sighed.

He shrugged. "I dunno, I think you were wearing a low cut top that day."

"Impulse!" Oliver exclaimed.

Stepping out from behind her, hands up, Bart smirked. "My bad, boss, shouldn't hit on your woman."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Now's not the time. Gear up, we're out in ten."

With a nod, they all turned and left.

Oliver rose from his seat and walked toward his secret room where all of his gear and Green Arrow suit was, Chloe following behind him. "You're coming out tonight, Sidekick?" he asked, trying to keep the anxiety from his tone. He trusted her, she was good at what she did, but every time she suited up, it left him uneasy.

"It's either go with you guys and have some dangerous fun or stay here and listen to Lois complain... Which would you pick?"

He grinned, tipping his head.

Her red leather outfit hung next to his and neither of them bothered with modesty before getting ready and leaving to meet back up with the team. Bag of cookies in hand, Lois nodded farewell to them and turned back to the schematics. Standing in the elevator together, they took it down to the basement, where Oliver kept his bike.

"Super Fox to League... What's the ETA?" Lois' voice came through the comlinks.

"Two hours, forty seven minutes," Chloe replied.

"Thanks ‘Tower. You guys need me, I'll be in the bathroom... Super Fox out!"

"Told you so!" Bart exclaimed.

Taking various modes of transportation and meeting at the private airfield where Oliver had his jet waiting, the League climbed into the comfortable leather upholstery and waited impatiently for their latest mission to start.

Sitting next to Chloe, Oliver felt her take his hand and turned to her. "Ready for this?" he asked quietly.

She smiled. "You know me... Danger calls and I come running." She stroked his hand with her thumb. "I just have this weird feeling in my stomach."

He stared at her a moment. "It's been an eventful day, it might just all be getting to you."

She turned to him, brows furrowed. "I'm happy about us... I'm glad we finally..." There was a faint blush to her cheeks.

"Me too." He grinned, leaning over to kiss her. Mouths slanting together, heated tongue tangling, they got a little caught up in each other as he leaned her back against the seat, her legs sprawled across his lap and her front pressed to his, leather suits rubbing together.

"Hey! This is no time to join the mile high club," Bart shouted from the back.

Oliver waved a hand to shut him up and then parted from Chloe's lips, breathing heavy.

"I'm feeling a little better," she murmured, grinning.

He laughed. "We'll be fine."

She winked. "Always are."

He sat back up, taking her hand once more and settled in for the long flight.

Of course they'd be fine... So why did he get the feeling they wouldn't?

 


End file.
